Clje  Gentle  Beatier 


SAMUEL  McCHORD  CROTHERS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

MCMXI 


REPLACING    /S 

Copyright,  1903 

By  Samuel  Me  Chord  Crothers 

All  rights  reserved 

Published  October,  1908 
IN  MEMORIAM 


1IEN  Don  Quixote  was  descanting  on  the 
beauty  of  the  peerless  Dulcinea,  the  Duchess 
interrupted  him  by  expressing  a  doubt  as  to  that 
lady's  existence. 

"  Much  may  be  said  on  that  point,"  said  Don 
Quixote.  "  God  only  knows  whether  there  be 
any  Dulcinea  or  not  in  the  world.  These  are 
things  the  proof  of  which  must  not  be  pushed 
to  extreme  lengths." 

But  this  admission  does  not  in  the  least  inter 
fere  with  the  habitual  current  of  his  thoughts, 
or  cool  the  ardor  of  his  loyalty.  He  proceeds 
after  the  momentary  digression  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  "I  behold  her  as  she  needs 

M141452 


vi  PREFACE 

must  be,  a  lady  who  contains  within  herself  all 
the  qualities  to  make  her  famous  throughout 
the  world ;  beautiful,  without  blemish ;  digni 
fied,  without  haughtiness  ;  tender,  and  yet  mod 
est  ;  gracious  from  courtesy,  and  courteous  from 
good  breeding ;  and  lastly  of  illustrious  birth." 

If  in  the  following  pages  I  begin  by  admit 
ting  that  there  is  much  to  be  said  in  behalf 
of  the  popular  notion  that  the  Gentle  Reader 
no  longer  exists,  let  this  pass  simply  as  an  evi 
dence  of  my  decent  respect  for  the  opinion  of 
mankind.  To  my  mind  the  Gentle  Reader  is 
the  most  agreeable  of  companions,  and  to  make 
his  acquaintance  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  life. 

Of  so  elusive  a  personality  it  is  not  always 
possible  to  give  a  consistent  account.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  I  may  have  occasionally  attributed  to 
him  sentiments  which  are  really  my  own ;  on 
the  other  hand,  I  suspect  that  some  views  that 
I  have  set  down  as  my  own  may  have  been  un 
consciously  derived  from  him.  I  have  particu 
lar  reference  to  the  opinions  expressed  on  the 


PREFACE  vii 

subject  of  Ignorance.  Such  confusion  of  mental 
properties  the  Gentle  Reader  will  readily  par 
don,  for  there  is  no  one  in  all  the  world  so 
careless  of  the  distinctions  between  Meum  and 
Tuum. 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

THE  GENTLE  READER 

THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY      ....  35 

THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 6^ 

CASES  OF  CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS  101 

THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE   .        .  135 

THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE       .        .  167 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN         .        .  201 

THE   HlNTER-LAND    OF   SCIENCE    ....  227 

THE  GENTLE  READER'S   FRIENDS   AMONG    THE 

CLERGY 243 

QUIXOTISM  271 

INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT        .        •  303 


.HAT  has  become  of  the  Gentle  Header? 
One  does  not  like  to  think  that  he  has 
passed  away  with  the  stagecoach  and  the  weekly 
news-letter;  and  that  henceforth  we  are  to  be 
confronted  only  by  the  stony  glare  of  the  Intel 
ligent  Reading  Public.  Once  upon  a  time,  that 
is  to  say  a  generation  or  two  ago,  he  was  very 
highly  esteemed.  To  him  books  were  dedicated, 
with  long  rambling  prefaces  and  with  episodes 
which  were  their  own  excuse  for  being.  In  the 
very  middle  of  the  story  the  writer  would  stop 
with  a  word  of  apology  or  explanation  addressed 
to  the  Gentle  Reader,  or  at  the  very  least  with  a 
nod  or  a  wink.  No  matter  if  the  fate  of  the  hero 
be  in  suspense  or  the  plot  be  inextricably  involved. 
"  Hang  the  plot !  "  says  the  author.  "  I  must 


£.'  THE  GENTLE  READER 

have  a  chat  with  the  Gentle  Reader,  and  find  out 
what  he  thinks  about  it." 

And  so  confidences  were  interchanged,  and 
there  was  gossip  about  the  Universe  and  sugges 
tions  in  regard  to  the  queerness  of  human  nature, 
until,  at  last,  the  author  would  jump  up  with, 
"  Enough  of  this,  Gentle  Reader  ;  perhaps  it  's 
time  to  go  back  to  the  story." 

The  thirteenth  book  of  Tom  Jones  leaves  the 
heroine  in  the  greatest  distress.  The  last  words 
are,  "  Nor  did  this  thought  once  suffer  her  to  close 
her  eyes  during  the  whole  succeeding  night." 
Had  Fielding  been  addressing  the  Intelligent 
Modern  Public  he  would  have  intensified  the  in 
terest  by  giving  an  analysis  of  Sophia's  distress 
so  that  we  should  all  share  her  insomnia.  But 
not  at  all !  While  the  dear  girl  is  recovering  her 
spirits  it  is  such  an  excellent  opportunity  to  have 
uninterrupted  discourse  with  the  Gentle  Reader, 
who  does  n't  take  these  things  too  hard,  having 
long  since  come  to  "  the  years  that  bring  the 
philosophic  mind."  So  the  next  chapter  is  en 
titled  An  Essay  to  prove  that  an  author  will  write 
better  for  having  some  knowledge  of  the  subject 
on  which  he  treats.  The  discussion  is  altogether 


THE  GENTLE  READER  3 

irrelevant;  that  is  what  the  Gentle  Reader 
likes. 

"  It  is  a  paradoxical  statement  you  make,"  he 
says,  trying  to  draw  the  author  out.  "  What 
are  your  arguments  ? " 

Then  the  author  moderates  his  expressions. 
"  To  say  the  truth  I  require  no  more  than  that 
an  author  should  have  some  little  knowledge  of 
the  subject  of  which  he  treats." 

"  That  sounds  more  reasonable,"  says  the 
Gentle  Reader.  "  You  know  how  much  I  dislike 
extreme  views.  Let  us  admit,  for  the  sake  of 
argument,  that  a  writer  may  know  a  little  about 
his  subject.  I  hope  that  this  may  not  prove 
the  opening  wedge  for  erudition.  By  the  way, 
where  was  it  we  left  the  sweet  Sophy ;  and  do 
you  happen  to  know  anything  more  about  that 
scapegrace  Jones?" 

That  was  the  way  books  were  written  and  read 
in  the  good  old  days  before  the  invention  of  ,the 
telephone  and  the  short  story.  The  generation 
that  delighted  in  Fielding  and  Richardson  had 
some  staying  power.  A  book  was  something  to 
tie  to.  No  one  would  say  jauntily,  "  I  have  read 
Sir  Charles  Grandison,"  but  only,  "  I  am  read- 


4  THE  GENTLE  READER 

ing."  The  characters  of  fiction  were  not  treated 
as  transient  guests,  but  as  lifelong  companions 
destined  to  be  a  solace  in  old  age.  The  short 
story,  on  the  other  hand,  is  invented  for  people 
who  want  a  literary  "  quick  lunch."  "  Tell  me  a 
story  while  I  wait,"  demands  the  eager  devourer 
of  fiction.  "  Serve  it  hot,  and  be  mighty  quick 
about  it  1 " 

In  rushes  the  story-teller  with  love,  marriage, 
jealousy,  disillusion,  and  suicide  all  served  up  to 
gether  before  you  can  say  Jack  Robinson.  There 
is  no  time  for  explanation,  and  the  reader  is  in 
no  mood  to  allow  it.  As  for  the  suicide,  it  must 
end  that  way ;  for  it  is  the  quickest.  The  end 
ing,  "They  were  happy  ever  after,"  cannot  be 
allowed,  for  the  doting  author  can  never  resist 
the  temptation  to  add  another  chapter,  dated  ten 
years  after,  to  show  how  happy  they  were. 

I  sometimes  fear  that  reading,  in  the  old- 
fashioned  sense,  may  become  a  lost  art.  The 
habit  of  resorting  to  the  printed  page  for  in 
formation  is  an  excellent  one,  but  it  is  not  what 
I  have  in  mind.  A  person  wants  something  and 
knows  where  to  get  it.  He  goes  to  a  b*«k  just 
as  he  goes  to  a  department  store.  Knowledge 


THE  GENTLE  READER  5 

is  a  commodity  done  up  in  a  neat  parcel.  So 
that  the  article  is  well  made  he  does  not  care 
either  for  the  manufacturer  or  the  dealer. 

Literature,  properly  so  called,  is  quite  dif 
ferent  from  this,  and  literary  values  inhere  not  in 
things  or  even  in  ideas,  but  in  persons.  There 
are  some  rare  spirits  that  have  imparted  them 
selves  to  their  words.  The  book  then  becomes 
a  person,  and  reading  comes  to  be  a  kind  of  con 
versation.  The  reader  is  not  passive,  as  if  he 
were  listening  to  a  lecture  on  The  Ethics  of  the 
Babylonians.  He  is  sitting  by  his  fireside,  and 
old  friends  drop  in  on  him.  He  knows  their 
habits  and  whims,  and  is  glad  to  see  them  and 
to  interchange  thought.  They  are  perfectly  at 
their  ease,  and  there  is  all  the  time  in  the  world, 
and  if  he  yawns  now  and  then  nobody  is  of 
fended,  and  if  he  prefers  to  follow  a  thought  of 
his  own  rather  than  theirs  there  is  no  discourtesy 
in  leaving  them.  If  his  friends  are  dull  this 
evening,  it  is  because  he  would  have  it  so ;  that 
is  why  he  invited  them.  He  wants  to  have  a 
good,  cosy,  dull  time.  He  has  had  enough  to 
stir  him  up  during  the  day ;  now  he  wants  to  be 
let  down.  He  knows  a  score  of  good  old  au- 


6  THE  GENTLE  READER 

thors  who  have  lived  long  in  the  happy  poppy 
fields. 

In  all  good  faith  he  invokes  the  goddess  of  the 
Dunciad :  — 

"  Her  ample  presence  fills  up  all  the  place, 
A  veil  of  fogs  dilates  her  awful  face. 
Here  to  her  Chosen  all  her  works  she  shews, 
Prose  swelled  to  verse,  verse  loitering  into  prose." 

The  Gentle  Eeader  nods  placidly  and  joins  in 
the  ascription :  — 

"  Great  tamer  of  all  human  art ! 
First  in  my  care  and  ever  at  my  heart ; 
Dullness  whose  good  old  cause  I  still  defend. 

O  ever  gracious  to  perplex'd  mankind, 
Still  shed  a  healing  mist  before  the  mind  ; 
And  lest  we  err  by  wit's  wild  dancing  light, 
Secure  us  kindly  in  our  native  night." 

I  would  not  call  any  one  a  gentle  reader  who 
does  not  now  and  then  take  up  a  dull  book,  and 
enjoy  it  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  written. 

Wise  old  Burton,  in  the  Anatomy  of  Melan 
choly,  advises  the  restless  person  to  "  read  some 
pleasant  author  till  he  be  asleep."  Many  persons 
find  the  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  to  answer  this 
purpose;  though  Dr.  Johnson  declares  that  it 


THE  GENTLE  READER  7 

was  the  only  book  that  took  him  out  of  bed  two 
hours  before  he  wished  to  rise.  It  is  hard  to 
draw  the  line  between  stimulants  and  narcotics. 

This  insistence  on  the  test  of  the  enjoyment 
of  the  dullness  of  a  dull  book  is  not  arbitrary. 
It  arises  from  the  characteristic  of  the  Gentle 
Reader.  He  takes  a  book  for  what  it  is  and 
never  for  what  it  is  not.  If  he  does  n't  like  it  at 
all  he  does  n't  read  it.  If  he  does  read  it,  it  is 
because  he  likes  its  real  quality.  That  is  the 
way  we  do  with  our  friends.  They  are  the  peo 
ple  of  whom  we  say  that  "  we  get  at  them."  I 
suppose  every  one  of  us  has  some  friend  of  whom 
we  would  confess  that  as  thinker  he  is  inferior  to 
Plato.  But  we  like  him  no  less  for  that.  We 
might  criticise  him  if  we  cared,  —  but  we  never 
care.  We  prefer  to  take  him  as  he  is.  It  is  the 
flavor  of  his  individuality  that  we  enjoy.  Appre 
ciation  of  literature  is  the  getting  at  an  author, 
so  that  we  like  what  he  is,  while  all  that  he  is  not 
is  irrelevant. 

There  are  those  who  endeavor  to  reduce  literary 
criticism  to  an  exact  science.  To  this  end  they 
would  eliminate  the  personal  element,  and  sub 
ject  our  admirations  to  fixed  standards.  In  this 


8  THE  GENTLE  READER 

way  it  is  hoped  that  we  may  ultimately  be  able 
to  measure  the  road  to  Parnassus  by  kilometers. 
All  this  is  much  more  easily  said  than  done. 
Personal  likings  will  not  stay  eliminated.  We 
admire  the  acuteness  of  the  critic  who  reveals  the 
unsuspected  excellence  of  our  favorite  writer.  It 
is  a  pleasure  like  that  which  comes  when  a  friend 
is  received  into  a  learned  society.  We  don't 
know  much  about  his  learning,  but  we  know  that 
he  is  a  good  fellow,  and  we  are  glad  to  learn  that 
he  is  getting  on.  We  feel  also  a  personal  satis 
faction  in  having  our  tastes  vindicated  and  our 
enjoyment  treated  as  if  it  were  a  virtue,  just  as 
Mr.  Pecksniff  was  pleased  with  the  reflection  that 
while  he  was  eating  his  dinner,  he  was  at  the 
same  time  obeying  a  law  of  the  Universe. 

But  the  rub  comes  when  the  judgment  of  the 
critic  disagrees  with  ours.  We  discover  that  his 
laws  have  no  penalties,  and  that  if  we  get  more 
enjoyment  from  breaking  than  from  obeying, 
then  we  are  just  that  much  ahead.  As  for  giving 
up  an  author  just  because  the  judgment  of  the 
critic  is  against  him,  who  ever  heard  of  such  a 
thing  ?  The  stanchest  canons  of  criticism  are 
exploded  by  a  genuine  burst  of  admiration. 


THE  GENTLE  READER  9 

That  is  what  happens  whenever  a  writer  of 
original  force  appears.  The  old  rules  do  not 
explain  him,  so  we  must  make  new  rules.  We 
first  enjoy  him,  and  then  we  welcome  the  clever 
persons  who  assure  us  that  the  enjoyment  is 
greatly  to  our  credit.  But  — 

"  You  must  love  him  ere  to  you 
He  shall  seem  worthy  of  your  love." 

I  asked  a  little  four-year-old  critic,  whose  liter 
ary  judgments  I  accept  as  final,  what  stories  she 
liked  best.  She  answered,  "  I  like  Joseph  and 
Aladdin  and  The  Forty  Thieves  and  The  Prob 
able  Son." 

It  was  a  purely  individual  judgment.  Some 
day  she  may  learn  that  she  has  the  opinion  of 
many  centuries  behind  her.  When  she  studies 
rhetoric  she  may  be  able  to  tell  why  Aladdin  is 
better  than  The  Shaving  of  Shagpat,  and  why 
the  story  of  "  The  Probable  Son  "  delights  her, 
while  the  half -hour  homily  on  the  parable  makes 
not  the  slightest  impression  on  her  mind.  The 
fact  is,  she  knows  a  good  story  just  as  she  knows 
a  good  apple.  How  the  flavor  got  there  is  a  sci 
entific  question  which  she  has  not  considered ; 


10  THE  GENTLE  READER 

but  being  there,  trust  the  uncloyed  palate  to  find 
it  out !  She  does  not  set  up  as  a  superior  person 
having  good  taste ;  but  she  says,  "  I  can  tell  you 
what  tastes  good." 

The  Gentle  Keader  is  not  greatly  drawn  to  any 
formal  treatises.  He  does  not  enjoy  a  bare  bit  of 
philosophy  that  has  been  moulded  into  a  fixed 
form.  Yet  he  dearly  loves  a  philosopher,  espe 
cially  if  he  turns  out  to  be  a  sensible  sort  of  man 
who  does  n't  put  on  airs. 

He  likes  the  old  Greek  way  of  philosophizing. 
What  a  delight  it  was  for  him  to  learn  that  the 
Academy  in  Athens  was  not  a  white  building  with 
green  blinds  set  upon  a  bleak  hilltop,  but  a  grove 
where,  on  pleasant  days,  Plato  could  be  found, 
ready  to  talk  with  all  comers !  That  was  some 
thing  like ;  no  board  of  trustees,  no  written  ex 
aminations,  no  text-books  —  just  Plato  !  You 
never  knew  what  was  to  be  the  subject  or  where 
you  were  coming  out ;  all  you  were  sure  of  was 
that  you  would  come  away  with  a  new  idea.  Or 
if  you  tired  of  the  Academy,  there  were  the  Per 
ipatetics,  gentlemen  who  were  drawn  together 
because  they  imagined  they  could  think  better  on 
their  legs ;  or  there  were  the  Stoics,  elderly  per- 


THE  GENTLE  READER  11 

sons  who  liked  to  sit  on  the  porch  and  discuss 
the  "cosmic  weather."  No  wonder  the  Greeks 
got  such  a  reputation  as  philosophers  !  They 
deserve  no  credit  for  it.  Any  one  would  like 
philosophy  were  it  served  up  in  that  way. 

All  that  has  passed.  Were  Socrates  to  come 
back  and  enter  a  downtown  office  to  inquire  after 
the  difference  between  the  Good  and  the  Beauti 
ful,  he  would  be  confronted  with  one  of  those 
neatly  printed  cards,  intended  to  discourage  the 
Socratic  method  during  business  hours :  "  This 
is  our  busy  day." 

The  Gentle  Reader  also  has  his  business  hours, 
and  has  learned  to  submit  to  their  inexorable  re 
quirements  ;  but  now  and  then  he  has  a  few 
hours  to  himself.  He  declines  an  invitation  to  a 
progressive  euchre  party,  on  the  ground  of  a  pre 
vious  engagement  he  had  made  long  ago,  in  his 
college  days,  to  meet  some  gentlemen  of  the  fifth 
century  B.  c.  The  evening  passes  so  pleasantly, 
and  the  world  seems  so  much  fresher  in  interest, 
that  he  wonders  why  he  does  n't  do  that  sort  of 
thing  oftener.  Perhaps  there  are  some  other 
progressive  euchre  parties  he  could  cut,  and  the 
world  be  none  the  worse. 


12  THE  GENTLE  READER 

How  many  people  there  have  been  who  have 
gone  through  the  world  with  their  eyes  open,  and 
who  have  jotted  down  their  impressions  by  the 
way !  How  quickly  these  philosophers  come  to 
know  their  own.  Listen  to  Izaak  Walton  in  his 
Epistle  to  the  Reader :  "  I  think  it  fit  to  tell  thee 
these  following  truths,  that  I  did  not  undertake 
to  write  or  publish  this  discourse  of  Fish  and 
Fishing  to  please  myself,  and  that  I  wish  it  may 
not  displease  others.  And  yet  I  cannot  doubt 
but  that  by  it  some  readers  may  receive  so  much 
profit  that  if  they  be  not  very  busy  men,  may 
make  it  not  unworthy  the  time  of  their  perusal. 
And  I  wish  the  reader  to  take  notice  that  in  the 
writing  of  it  I  have  made  a  recreation  of  a  re 
creation  ;  and  that  it  might  prove  so  tq  thee  in 
the  reading,  and  not  to  read  dully  and  tediously, 
I  have  in  several  places  mixed  some  innocent 
mirth ;  of  which  if  thou  be  a  severe,  sour-com- 
plexioned  man,  then  I  here  disallow  thee  to  be  a 
competent  judge.  ...  I  am  the  willinger  to  jus 
tify  this  innocent  mirth  because  the  whole  dis 
course  is  a  kind  of  picture  of  my  own  disposition, 
at  least  of  my  disposition  on  such  days  and  times 
as  I  allow  myself  —  when  Nat  and  I  go  fishing 


THE  GENTLE  READER  13 

together."  How  cleverly  he  bows  out  the  ichthy 
ologists!  How  he  rebukes  the  sordid  creature 
who  has  come  simply  to  find  out  how  to  catch 
fish  !  That  is  the  very  spirit  of  Simon  Magus  ! 
"  Thou  hast  neither  part  nor  lot  in  this  matter !  " 

The  Gentle  Header  has  no  ulterior  aims.  All 
he  wants  to  know  is  how  Izaak  Walton  felt  when 
he  went  fishing,  and  what  he  was  thinking  about. 

"A  kind  of  picture  of  a  man's  own  disposi 
tion,"  that  is  literature.  Even  the  most  futile 
attempt  at  self-revelation  evokes  sympathy.  I 
remember,  as  a  boy,  gazing  at  an  austere  volume 
in  my  grandfather's  library.  It  was,  as  far  as  I 
could  ascertain,  an  indigestible  mixture  of  the 
ology  and  philology.  But  my  eye  was  caught  by 
the  title,  The  Diversions  of  Purley.  I  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  who  Purley  was,  but  my  heart 
went  out  to  him  at  once. 

"  Poor  Purley !  "  I  said.  "  If  these  were  your 
diversions,  what  a  dog's  life  you  must  have  led  !  " 
I  could  see  Purley  gazing  vaguely  through  his 
spectacles  as  he  said :  "  Don't  pity  me !  It 's 
true  I  have  had  my  trials,  —  but  then  again  what 
larks!  See  that  big  book;  I  did  it!"  Only 
long  after  did  I  learn  that  my  sympathy  was  un- 


14  THE  GENTLE  READER 

called  for,  as  Purley  was  not  a  person  but  a 
place. 

Of  all  the  devices  for  promoting  a  good  under 
standing  the  old-fashioned  Preface  was  the  most 
excellent.  It  was  not  an  introduction  to  the  sub 
ject,  its  purpose  was  personal.  In  these  days  the 
Preface,  where  it  survives,  is  reduced  to  the  small 
est  possible  space.  It  is  like  the  platform  of  an 
electric  car  which  affords  the  passenger  a  preca 
rious  foothold  while  he  strives  to  obey  the  stern 
demand  of  the  conductor  that  he  move  forward. 
But  time  was  when  the  Preface  was  the  broad 
hospitable  porch  on  which  the  Author  and  Eeader 
sat  for  an  hour  or  so  and  talked  over  the  enter 
prise  that  was  before  them.  Sometimes  they 
would  talk  so  long  that  they  almost  forgot  their 
ostensible  subject. 

The  very  title  of  Sir  William  Davenant's 
"Preface  before  Gondibert"  suggests  the  hospi 
table  leisure  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Gondi 
bert  is  a  poetical  masterpiece  not  to  be  lightly 
adventured  upon.  The  mind  must  be  duly  pre 
pared  for  it.  Sir  William,  therefore,  discourses 
about  poetry  in  general,  and  then  takes  up  special 
instances. 


THE  GENTLE  READER  15 

"  I  will  (according  as  all  times  have  applied 
their  reverence)  begin  with  Homer." 

"  Homer  is  an  admirable  point  of  departure, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  will  also  tell 
what  you  think  of  Virgil,"  says  the  Gentle 
Reader,  who  when  he  is  asked  to  go  a  mile  is 
glad  to  go  twain. 

Then  follows  discourse  on  Lucan,  Statius,Tasso, 
and  the  rest. 

"But  I  feel  (sir)  that  I  am  falling  into  the 
dangerous  Fit  of  a  hot  writer ;  for  instead  of  per 
forming  the  promise  which  begins  this  Preface, 
and  doth  oblige  me  (after  I  had  given  you  the 
judgement  of  some  upon  others),  to  present  my 
self  to  your  censure,  I  am  wandering  after  new 
thoughts ;  but  I  shall  ask  your  pardon  and  return 
to  my  undertaking." 

"No  apologies  are  necessary,  I  assure  you. 
With  new  thoughts  the  rule  is  first  come,  first 
served,  while  an  immortal  masterpiece  can  wait 
till  such  time  as  we  can  enjoy  it  together." 

After  some  reflections  on  the  fallibility  of  the 
clergy  and  the  state  of  the  country,  the  author 
proceeds  to  describe  the  general  structure  of  his 
poem. 


16  THE  GENTLE  READER 

"I  have  now  given  you  an  account  of  such 
provisions  as  I  have  made  for  this  new  Building, 
and  you  may  next  please,  having  examined  the 
substance,  to  take  a  view  of  the  form."  He  points 
out  the  "  shadowings,  happy  strokes,  and  sweet 
graces  "  of  his  work.  This  is  done  with  an  inti 
macy  of  knowledge  and  fullness  of  appreciation 
that  could  not  be  possible  in  a  stranger. 

"  'T  is  now  fit,  after  I  have  given  you  so  long  a 
survey  of  the  Building,  to  render  you  some  ac 
count  of  the  Builder,  that  you  may  know  by  what 
times,  pains,  and  assistance  I  have  already  pro 
ceeded." 

The  time  passes  with  much  pleasure  and  profit 
until  at  last  the  host  says :  "  And  now  (sir)  I 
shall  after  my  busy  vanitie  in  shewing  and  de 
scribing  my  new  Building,  with  great  quietness, 
being  almost  as  weary  as  yourself,  bring  you  to 
the  Back-dore." 

It  is  all  so  handsomely  done  that  the  reader  is 
prepared  to  begin  upon  the  poem  itself,  and  would 
do  so  were  it  not  that  the  distinguished  friend  of 
the  author,  Mr.  Hobbes,  has  prepared  An  Answer 
to  the  Preface  —  a  point  of  politeness  which  has 
not  survived  the  seventeenth  century.  Mr.  Hobbes 


THE  GENTLE  READER  17 

is  of  the  opinion  that  there  is  only  one  point  in 
which  Gondibert  is  inferior  to  the  masterpieces 
of  antiquity,  and  that  is  that  it  is  written  in 
English  instead  of  in  Greek  or  Latin.  The 
Preface  and  Answer  to  the  Preface  having  been 
read,  the  further  discovery  is  made  that  there  is  a 
Postscript. 

The  Author,  it  appears,  has  fallen  on  evil  days, 
and  is  in  prison  charged  with  High  Treason. 

"  I  am  arrived  here  at  the  middle  of  the  Third 
Book  which  makes  an  equal  half  of  the  Poem, 
and  I  was  now  by  degrees  to  present  you  (as  I 
promised  in  the  Preface)  the  several  keys  to  the 
Main  Building,  which  should  convey  you  through 
such  short  walks  as  give  you  an  easie  view  of  the 
whole  Frame.  But  't  is  high  time  to  strike  sail 
and  cast  anchor  (though  I  have  but  run  half  my 
course),  when  at  the  Helme  I  am  threatened  with 
Death,  who  though  he  can  trouble  us  but  once 
seems  troublesome,  and  even  in  the  Innocent  may 
beget  such  gravitie  as  diverts  the  Musick  of 
Verse.  I  beseech  thee  if  thou  art  as  civill  as  to 
be  pleased  with  what  is  written,  not  to  take  it  ill 
that  I  run  not  till  my  last  gasp.  ...  If  thou  art 
a  malicious  Keader  thou  wilt  remember  my  Pre- 


18  THE  GENTLE  READER 

face  boldly  confessed  that  a  main  motive  to  this 
undertaking  was  a  desire  of  Fame,  and  thou  maist 
likewise  say  that  I  may  not  possibly  live  to  enjoy  it. 
...  If  thou  (Reader)  art  one  of  those  who  has 
been  warmed  with  Poetick  Fire,  I  reverence  thee 
as  my  Judge,  and  whilst  others  tax  me  with  Van- 
itie  as  if  the  Preface  argued  my  good  Opinion 
of  the  Work,  I  appeal  to  thy  Conscience  whether 
it  be  much  more  than  such  a  necessary  assurance 
as  thou  hast  made  to  thyself  in  like  Under 
takings." 

The  Gentle  Reader  feels  that  whatever  may  be 
the  merits  of  Gondibert,  Sir  William  Davenant 
is  a  gallant  gentleman  and  worthy  of  his  lasting 
friendship. 

The  Gentle  Reader  has  a  warm  place  in  his 
heart  for  those  whom  he  calls  the  paradisaical 
writers.  These  are  the  unfallen  spirits  who  reveal 
their  native  dispositions  and  are  not  ashamed. 
They  write  about  that  which  they  find  most  inter 
esting  —  themselves.  They  not  only  tell  us  what 
happens,  but  what  they  think  and  how  they  feel. 
We  are  made  partners  of  their  joys  and  sorrows. 
The  first  person  singular  is  glorified  by  their  use. 


THE  GENTLE  READER  .19 

"  But,"  says  the  Severe  Moralist,  "  don't  you' 
frequently  discover  that  these  persons  are  vain?'* 

"Precisely  so,"  answers  the  Gentle  Reader, 
"  and  that 's  what  I  want  to  find  out.  How  are 
you  going  to  discover  what  an  author  thinks 
about  himself  if  he  hides  behind  a  mask  of  im 
personality  ?  There  is  no  getting  acquainted 
with  such  hypocrites.  In  five  hundred  pages  you 
may  not  have  a  glimpse  of  the  man  behind  the 
book,  though  he  may  be  bubbling  over  with  self- 
conceit.  There  was  Alexander  Cruden,  one  of 
the  most  eccentric  persons  of  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury.  Fully  persuaded  of  his  own  greatness,  he 
called  himself  Alexander  the  Corrector  and  an 
nounced  that  he  was  destined  to  be  '  the  second 
Joseph  and  a  great  man  at  court.'  He  haunted 
the  ante-chambers  of  the  nobility,  but  found  only 
one  nobleman  who  would  listen  to  him,  Earl 
Paulett,  '  who  being  goutish  in  his  feet  could  not 
run  away  from  the  Corrector  as  other  men  are 
apt  to  do.'  Cruden  appears  to  have  spent  his 
leisure  moments  in  going  about  London  with  a 
large  piece  of  sponge  with  which  he  erased  any 
offensive  chalk  marks  on  the  walls.  '  This  em 
ployment,'  says  his  biographer,  '  occasionally 


20  THE  GENTLE  READER 

made  his  walks  very  tedious.'  Now  one  might 
consult  Cruden's  '  Concordance  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures '  in  vain  for  any  hint  of  these  idiosyn 
crasies  of  the  author.  Perhaps  the  nature  of  the 
work  made  this  impossible.  But  what  shall  we 
say  of  writers  who,  having  no  such  excuse,  take 
pains  to  conceal  from  us  what  manner  of  men 
they  were.  Even  David  Hume,  whose  good  opin 
ion  of  himself  is  a  credit  to  his  critical  sagacity, 
assumes  an  apologetic  tone  when  he  ventures  upon 
a  sketch  of  his  own  life.  '  It  is  difficult,'  he 
says,  c  for  a  man  to  speak  long  about  himself 
without  vanity;  therefore  I  shall  be  brief.'  What 
obtuseness  that  shows  in  a  philosopher  who  actu 
ally  wrote  a  treatise  on  human  nature !  What 
did  he  know  about  human  nature  if  he  thought 
anybody  would  read  an  auto-biography  that  was 
without  vanity  ?  Vanity  is  one  of  the  most  lov 
able  of  weaknesses.  If  in  our  contemporaries  it 
sometimes  troubles  us,  that  is  only  because  two 
bodies  cannot  occupy  the  same  space  at  the  same 
time.  But  when  it  is  all  put  in  a  book  and  the 
pure  juices  of  self-satisfaction  have  been  allowed 
to  mellow  for  a  few  centuries,  nothing  can  be 
more  delicious." 


THE  GENTLE  READER  21 

His  heart  was  won  by  a  single  sentence  in  one 
of  Horace  Walpole' s  letters :  "  I  write  to  you  as 
I  think."  To  the  writer  who  gives  him  this 
mark  of  confidence  he  is  as  faithful  as  is  the 
Arab  to  the  guest  who  has  eaten  salt  in  his  tent. 
The  books  which  contain  the  results  of  thought 
are  common  enough,  but  it  is  a  rare  privilege 
to  share  with  a  pleasant  gentleman  the  act  of 
thinking.  If  the  thoughts  are  those  which  arise 
spontaneously  out  of  the  incidents  of  the  passing 
day,  so  much  the  better.  He  therefore  warmly 
resents  Wordsworth's  remark  about  "  that  cold 
and  false-hearted,  frenchified  coxcomb,  Horace 
Walpole." 

"  What  has  Horace  Walpole  done  except  to 
give  us  a  picture  of  his  own  disposition  and  inci 
dentally  of  the  world  he  lived  in  ?  It  is  an  in 
stance  of  the  ingratitude  of  Republics  —  and  the 
Republic  of  Letters  is  the  most  ungrateful  of 
them  all  —  that  this  should  be  made  the  ground 
of  a  railing  accusation  against  him.  Walpole 
might  answer  as  Timoleon  did,  when,  after  hav 
ing  restored  the  liberties  of  Syracuse,  a  citizen 
denounced  him  in  the  popular  assembly.  The 
Liberator  replied :  '  I  cannot  sufficiently  express 


22  THE  GENTLE  READER 

my  gratitude  to  the  gods  for  granting  my  request 
in  permitting  me  to  see  all  the  Syracusans  enjoy 
the  liberty  of  saying  what  they  think  fit.'  A  man 
who  could  write  letters  for  sixty-two  years  re 
vealing  every  phase  of  feeling  for  the  benefit  of 
posterity  earns  the  right  of  making  as  magnani 
mous  a  retort  as  that  of  any  of  Plutarch's  men. 
He  might  well  thank  the  gods  for  permitting 
him  to  furnish  future  generations  with  ample 
material  for  passing  judgment  upon  him.  For 
myself,  I  do  not  agree  with  Wordsworth.  I  have 
summered  and  wintered  with  Horace  Walpole 
and  he  has  never  played  me  false ;  he  has  shown 
himself  exactly  as  he  is.  To  be  sure,  he  has  his 
weaknesses,  but  he  is  always  ready  to  share  them 
with  his  friends.  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason 
why  he  is  accused  of  being  frenchified.  A  true 
born  Englishman  would  have  kept  his  faults  to 
himself  as  if  they  were  incommunicable  attri 
butes.  I  am  not  going  to  allow  a  bit  of  criticism 
to  come  between  us  at  this  late  day.  The  rela 
tion  between  Header  and  Author  is  not  to  be 
treated  so  lightly.  I  believe  that  there  is  no 
reason  for  separation  in  such  cases  except  incom 
patibility  of  temper." 


THE  GENTLE  HEADER  23 

Then  he  makes  his  way  to  Strawberry  Hill 
and  listens  to  its  master  describing  his  posses 
sion.  "  It  is  set  in  enameled  meadows  with 
filigree  hedges,  — 

'A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  rolled 
And  little  finches  wave  their  wings  of  gold.' 

Two  delightful  roads,  that  you  would  call  dusty, 
supply  me  continually  with  coaches  and  chaises ; 
barges  as  solemn  as  barons  of  the  exchequer  move 
under  my  window ;  Kichmond  Hill  and  Ham 
Walks  bound  my  prospects ;  but  thank  God ! 
the  Thames  is  between  me  and  the  Duchess  of 
Queensberry.  Dowagers  as  plenty  as  flounders 
inhabit  all  around ;  and  Pope's  ghost  is  just  now 
skimming  under  my  window  by  a  most  poetical 
moonlight." 

It  is  pleasant  to  sit  in  the  Gothic  villa  on 
Strawberry  Hill  and  see  the  world  pass  by.  The 
small  Euphrates,  the  filigree  hedges,  and  the 
gossiping  dowagers,  being  in  the  foreground, 
appear  more  important  than  they  do  in  the  for 
mal  histories  which  have  no  perspective.  But 
the  great  world  does  pass  by,  and  the  master  of 
the  house  is  familiar  with  it  and  recognizes  every 


24  THE  GENTLE  READER 

important  person  in  the  procession.  Was  he  not 
a  Prime  Minister's  son,  and  were  not  his  first 
letters  written  from  Downing  Street? 

How  rapidly  the  procession  moves,  giving  only 
time  for  a  nod  and  a  word  !  The  reader  is  like 
a  country  cousin  in  the  metropolis  bewildered 
by  a  host  of  new  sensations.  Now  and  then  he 
smiles  as  some  one  whose  name  has  been  long 
familiar  is  pointed  out.  The  chief  wonder  is 
that  there  are  so  many  notabilities  of  whom  he 
has  never  heard  before.  What  an  unconscion 
able  number  of  Duchesses  there  are,  and  each  one 
has  a  history !  How  different  the  Statesmen  are 
from  what  he  had  imagined ;  not  nearly  so  wise 
but  ever  so  much  more  amusing.  Even  the  great 
William  Pitt  appears  to  be  only  "  Sir  William 
Quixote,"  and  a  fantastic  figure  he  is !  Straw 
berry  Hill  has  its  prejudices.  It  listens  incredu 
lously  to  the  stories  illustrative  of  incorruptible 
political  virtue.  They  are  tales  to  be  told  to 
Posterity. 

In  regard  to  the  historical  drama  that  unfolds 
there  is  a  pleasant  ambiguity.  Which  is  it  that 
sees  behind  the  scenes,  — the  writer  or  the  present- 
day  reader?  The  reader  representing  Posterity 


THE  GENTLE  READER  25 

has  a  general  notion  of  the  progress  of  events. 
He  thinks  he  knows  how  things  actually  came 
out  and  which  were  the  more  important.  He  is 
anxious  to  know  how  they  strike  a  contemporary. 
But  he  is  chastened  by  the  discovery  of  the  in 
numerable  incidents  which  Posterity  has  forgot 
ten,  but  which  made  a  great  stir  in  their  day. 
"  The  Tower  guns  have  sworn  through  thick  and 
thin  that  Prince  Ferdinand  has  entirely  demol 
ished  the  French,  and  city  bonfires  all  believe  it." 
Prince  Ferdinand  "  is  the  most  fashionable  man 
in  England.  Have  not  the  Tower  guns  and  all 
the  parsons  in  London  been  ordered  to  pray  for 
him?" 

The  Gentle  Reader  is  almost  tempted  to  look 
up  Prince  Ferdinand,  but  is  diverted  from  this 
inquiry  by  a  bit  of  gossip  about  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough  and  the  silver  spoons. 

When  he  comes  to  the  glorious  year  1775  he 
is  eager  to  learn  the  sensations  of  Walpole  when 
the  echoes  of  the  "  shot  heard  round  the  world  " 
come  to  him.  The  shot  is  heard,  but  its  effect 
is  not  so  startling  as  might  have  been  imagined. 
"  I  did  but  put  my  head  into  London  on  Thurs 
day,  and  more  bad  news  from  America.  I  won- 


26  THE  GENTLE  READER 

der  when  it  will  be  bad  enough  to  make  folks 
think  it  so,  without  going  on  ?  "  Then  Walpole 
turns  to  something  more  interesting.  "  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  tell  you  a  Twickenham  story." 

It  is  about  a  certain  Captain  Mawhood  who 
had  "  applied  himself  to  learn  the  classics  and 
free-thinking  and  was  always  disputing  with  the 
parson  of  the  parish  about  Dido  and  his  own 
soul." 

It  is  not  just  what  the  Gentle  Reader  was  ex 
pecting,  but  he  adapts  himself  cheerfully  to  the 
situation. 

"  I  was  about  to  inquire  what  you  thought 
about  the  American  war,  but  we  may  come  to 
that  at  some  other  time.  Now  let  us  have  the 
Twickenham  story." 

The  Gentle  Reader  loves  the  writers  who  reveal 
their  intellectual  limitations,  but  he  does  not  care 
for  those  who  insist  upon  telling  him  their  phy 
sical  ailments.  He  is  averse  to  the  letters  and 
journals  which  are  merely  contributions  to  patho 
logy.  Indeed,  he  would,  if  he  had  his  own  way, 
allow  the  mention  of  only  one  malady,  the  gout. 
This  is  doubtless  painful  enough  in  the  flesh,  but 


THE  GENTLE  READER  27 

in  a  book  it  has  many  pleasant  associations.  Its 
intervals  seem  conducive  to  reminiscence,  and  its 
twinges  are  the  occasions  of  eloquent  objurga 
tions  which  light  up  many  an  otherwise  colorless 
page. 

With  all  his  tolerance  of  vanity  he  dislikes 
that  inverted  kind  which  induces  certain  morbid 
persons  to  write  out  painful  confessions  of  their 
own  sins.  He  is  willing  to  believe  that  they  are 
far  from  perfect,  but  he  is  sceptical  in  regard  to 
their  claims  to  be  the  chief  of  sinners.  It  is 
hard  to  attain  distinction  in  a  line  where  there  is 
so  much  competition. 

When  he  finds  a  book  of  Life  and  Letters 
unreadable,  he  does  not  bring  a  railing  accusa 
tion  against  either  the  biographer  or  the  biogra- 
phee. 

They  may  both  have  been  interesting  persons, 
though  the  result  in  cold  print  is  not  exhilarat 
ing.  He  knows  how  volatile  is  the  charm  of 
personality,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  preserve  the 
best  things.  His  friend,  who  is  a  great  diner- 
out,  says  :  "  Those  were  delightful  people  I  met 
at  dinner  yesterday,  and  what  a  capital  story  the 
judge  told !  I  laugh  every  time  I  think  about  it." 


28  THE  GENTLE  READER 

"  What  story  ?  "  asks  the  Gentle  Eeader,  eager 
for  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the  witty  man's 
table. 

"  I  can't  remember  just  what  it  was  about,  or 
what  was  the  point  of  it ;  but  it  was  a  good  story, 
and  you  would  have  thought  so,  too,  if  you  had 
heard  the  judge  tell  it." 

"  I  certainly  should,"  replies  the  Gentle  Reader, 
"  and  I  shall  always  believe,  on  your  testimony, 
that  the  judge  is  one  of  the  best  story-tellers  in 
existence." 

In  like  manner  he  believes  in  interesting  things 
that  great  men  must  have  done  which  unfortu 
nately  were  not  taken  down  by  any  one  at  the 
time. 

The  Gentle  Reader  himself  is  not  much  at 
home  in  fashionable  literary  society.  He  is  a 
shy  person,  and  his  embarrassment  is  increased 
by  the  consciousness  that  he  seldom  gets  round 
to  a  book  till  after  people  are  through  talking 
about  it.  Not  that  he  prides  himself  on  this 
fact;  for  he  is  far  from  cherishing  the  foolish 
prejudice  against  new  books. 

"  '  David  Copperfield '  was  a  new  book  once, 


THE  GENTLE  READER  29 

and  it  was  as  good  then  as  it  is  now."  It  simply 
happens  that  there  are  so  many  good  books  that 
it  is  hard  to  keep  up  with  the  procession.  Be 
sides,  he  has  discovered  that  the  books  that  are 
talked  about  can  be  talked  about  just  as  well 
without  being  read ;  this  leaves  him  more  time 
for  his  old  favorites. 

"  I  have  a  sweet  little  story  for  you,"  says  the 
charming  authoress.  "  I  am  sure  you  like  sweet 
little  stories." 

"  Only  one  lump,  if  you  please,"  says  the 
Gentle  Reader. 

In  spite  of  his  genial  temperament  there  are 
some  subjects  on  which  he  is  intolerant.  When 
he  picks  up  a  story  that  turns  out  to  be  only  a 
Tract  for  the  Times,  he  turns  indignantly  on  the 
author. 

"  Sirrah,"  he  cries,  under  the  influence  of  deep 
feeling,  relapsing  into  the  vernacular  of  romance, 
"  you  gained  access  to  me  under  the  plea  that 
you  were  going  to  please  me ;  and  now  that  you 
have  stolen  a  portion  of  my  time,  you  throw  off 
all  disguise,  and  admit  that  you  entered  with  in 
tent  to  instruct,  and  that  you  do  not  care  whether 
you  please  me  or  not !  I  've  a  mind  to  have  you 


30  THE  GENTLE  READER 

arrested  for  obtaining  my  attention  under  talse 
pretenses !  How  villainously  we  are  imposed 
upon !  Only  the  other  day  a  man  came  to  me 
highly  recommended  as  an  architect.  I  employed 
him  to  build  me  a  Castle  in  Spain,  regardless  of 
expense.  When  I  suggested  a  few  pleasant  em 
bellishments,  the  wretch  refused  on  the  ground 
that  he  never  saw  anything  of  the  kind  in  the 
town  he  came  from,  —  Toledo,  Ohio.  If  he  had 
pleaded  honest  poverty  of  invention  I  should 
have  forgiven  him,  but  he  took  a  high  and  mighty 
tone  with  me,  and  said  that  it  was  against  his 
principles  to  allow  any  incident  that  was  not 
probable.  '  Who  said  that  it  should  be  proba 
ble  ? '  I  replied.  4  It  is  your  business  to  make 
it  seem  probable.' ' 

He  highly  disapproves  of  what  he  considers 
the  cheese-paring  economy  on  the  part  of  certain 
novelists  in  the  endowment  of  their  characters. 
"Their  traits  are  so  microscopic,  and  require 
such  minute  analysis,  that  I  get  half  through  the 
book  before  I  know  which  is  which.  It  seems  as 
if  the  writers  were  not  sure  that  there  was  enough 
human  nature  to  go  around.  They  should  study 
the  good  old  story  of  Aboukir  and  Abousir. 


THE  GENTLE  READER  31 

"  '  There  were  in  the  city  of  Alexandria  two 
men,  —  one  was  a  dyer,  and  his  name  was  Abou- 
kir ;  the  other  was  a  barber,  and  his  name  was 
Abousir.  They  were  neighbors,  and  the  dyer 
was  a  swindler,  a  liar,  and  a  person  of  exceeding 
wickedness.' 

"  Now,  there  the  writer  and  reader  start  fair. 
There  are  no  unnecessary  concealments.  You 
know  that  the  dyer  is  a  villain,  and  you  are  on 
your  guard.  You  are  not  told  in  the  first  para 
graph  about  the  barber,  but  you  take  it  for 
granted  that  he  is  an  excellent,  well-meaning  man, 
who  is  destined  to  become  enormously  wealthy. 
And  so  it  turns  out.  If  our  writers  would  only 
follow  this  straightforward  method  we  should 

O 

hear  less  about  nervous  prostration  among  the 
reading  classes."  He  is  very  severe  on  the  whim 
sical  notion,  that  never  occurred  to  any  one  until 
the  last  century,  of  saying  that  the  heroine  is 
not  beautiful. 

"  Such  a  remark  is  altogether  gratuitous. 
When  I  become  attached  to  a  young  lady  in  fic 
tion  she  always  appears  to  me  to  be  an  extraor 
dinarily  lovely  creature.  It 's  sheer  impertinence 
for  the  author  to  intrude,  every  now  and  then, 


32  THE  GENTLE  READER 

just  to  call  my  attention  to  the  fact  that  her  com 
plexion  is  not  good,  and  that  her  features  are  ir 
regular.  It's  bad  manners,  —  and,  besides,  I 
don't  believe  that  it 's  true." 

Nothing,  however,  so  offends  the  Gentle  Reader 
as  the  trick  of  elaborating  a  plot  and  then  re 
fusing  to  elucidate  it,  and  leaving  everything  at 
loose  ends.  He  feels  toward  this  misdirected  in 
genuity  as  Miss  Edgeworth's  Harry  did  toward 
the  conundrum  which  his  sister  proposed. 

"  This  is  quite  different,"  he  said,  "  from  the 
others.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  after  laboring 
ever  so  hard  at  one  riddle  it  does  not  in  the  least 
lead  to  another.  The  next  is  always  on  some 
other  principle." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Lucy.  "  Nobody  who 
knows  how  to  puzzle  would  give  two  riddles  of 
the  same  kind ;  that  would  be  too  easy." 

"  But  then,  without  something  to  guide  one," 
said  Harry,  "  there  is  no  getting  on." 

"  Not  in  your  regular  way,"  said  Lucy. 

"  That  is  the  very  thing  I  complain  of,"  said 
Harry. 

"  Complain  !  But  my  dear  Harry,  riddles  are 
meant  only  to  divert  one." 


THE  GENTLE  READER  33 

"  But  they  do  not  divert  me,"  said  Harry  ; 
"  they  only  puzzle  me." 

The  Gentle  Header  is  inclined  to  impute  un 
worthy  motives  to  the  writer  whose  work  merely 
puzzles  him. 

"The  lazy  unscrupulous  fellow  takes  a  job, 
and  then  throws  it  up  and  leaves  me  to  finish  it 
for  him.  It 's  a  clear  breach  of  contract !  That 
sort  of  thing  would  never  have  been  allowed  in 
any  well-governed  community.  Fancy  what  would 
have  happened  in  the  court  of  Shahriar,  where 
story-telling  was  taken  seriously." 

Sheherazade  has  got  Sindbad  on  the  moving 
island. 

"  How  did  he  get  off  ?  "  asks  the  Sultan. 

"  That 's  for  your  majesty  to  find  out,"  answers 
Sheherazade  archly.  "  Maybe  he  got  off,  and 
maybe  he  did  n't.  That 's  the  problem." 

"  Off  with  her  head !  "  says  the  Sultan. 

When  sore  beset  by  novelists  who,  under  the 
guise  of  fiction,  attempt  to  saddle  him  with  "  the 
weary  weight  of  all  this  unintelligible  world," 
the  Gentle  Reader  takes  refuge  with  one  who 
has  never  deceived  him. 

"  What  shall  it  be  ?  "  says  Sir  Walter. 


34  THE  GENTLE  READER 

"  As  you  please,  Sir  Walter." 

"  No !  As  you  please,  Gentle  Header.  If  you 
have  nothing  else  in  mind,  how  would  this  do  for 
a  start?  — 

'  Waken  !  Lords  and  Ladies  gay ! 
On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day.' 

It 's  a  fine  morning,  and  it 's  a  gallant  company ! 
Let 's  go  with  them  !  " 

"  Let 's !  "  cries  the  Gentle  Reader. 


<3]()ROWNING'S  description  of  the  effect  of 
ill 

<5 "  the  recital  of  classic  poetry  upon  a  band  of 
piratical  Greeks  must  seem  to  many  persons  to 
be  exaggerated :  — 


"  Then,  because  Greeks  are  Greeks,  and  hearts  are  hearts, 
And  poetry  is  power,  they  all  outbroke 
In  a  great  joyous  laughter  with  much  love." 

Because  Americans  are  Americans,  and  business 
is  business,  and  time  is  money,  and  life  is  earnest, 
we  take  our  poetry  much  more  seriously  than 
that.  We  are  ready  to  form  classes  to  study  it 
and  to  discuss  it,  but  these  solemn  assemblies  are 
not  likely  to  be  disturbed  by  outbursts  of  "  great 
joyous  laughter." 

We  usually  accept  poetry  as  mental  discipline. 
It  is  as  if  the  poet  said,  "  Go  to,  now.     I  will 


36  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

produce  a  masterpiece."  Thereupon  the  consci 
entious  reader  answers,  "  Very  well ;  I  can  stand 
it.  I  will  apply  myself  with  all  diligence,  that 
by  means  of  it  I  may  improve  my  mind."  Who 
has  not  sometimes  quailed  before  the  long  row  of 
British  Poets  in  uniform  binding,  standing  stiffly 
side  by  side,  like  so  many  British  grenadiers  on 
dress  parade  ?  Who  has  not  felt  his  courage  ooze 
away  at  the  sight  of  those  melancholy  volumes 
labeled  Complete  Poetical  Works  ?  Poetical  Re 
mains  they  used  to  call  them,  and  there  is  some 
thing  funereal  in  their  aspect. 

The  old  hymn  says,  "  Religion  never  was  de 
signed  to  make  our  pleasures  less,"  and  the  same 
thing  ought  to  be  said  about  poetry.  The  dis 
taste  for  poetry  arises  largely  from  the  habit  of 
treating  it  as  if  it  were  only  a  more  difficult  kind 
of  prose.  We  are  so  much  under  the  tyranny  of 
the  scientific  method  that  the  habits  of  the  school 
room  intrude,  and  we  try  to  extract  instruction 
from  what  was  meant  to  give  us  joy.  The  prosaic 
commentary  obscures  the  beauty  of  the  text,  so 
that 

"  The  glad  old  romance,  the  gay  chivalrous  story, 
With  its  fables  of  faery,  its  legends  of  glory, 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  37 

Is  turned  to  a  tedious  instruction,  not  new, 

To  the  children,  who  read  it  insipidly  through." 

One  of  the  most  ruthless  invasions  of  the  pro 
saic  faculties  into  the  realm  of  poetry  comes  from, 
the  thirst  for  general  information.  When  this 
thirst  becomes  a  disease,  it  is  not  satisfied  with 
census  reports  and  encyclopaedia  articles,  but 
values  literature  according  to  the  number  of  facts 
presented.  Suppose  these  lines  from  "  Paradise 
Lost "  to  be  taken  for  study  :  — 

"  Thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strow  the  brooks 
In  Vallombrosa,  where  th'  Etrurian  shades 
High  over-arched  embower,  or  scattered  sedge 
Afloat,  when  with  fierce  winds  Orion  armed 
Hath  vexed  the  Red  Sea  coast,  whose  waves  o'erthrew 
Busiris  and  his  Memphian  chivalry." 

What  an  opportunity  this  presents  to  the 
schoolmaster  !  "  Come  now,"  he  cries  with  ped 
agogic  glee,  "  answer  me  a  few  questions.  Where 
is  Vallombrosa?  What  is  the  character  of  its 
autumnal  foliage  ?  Bound  Etruria.  What  is 
sedge  ?  Explain  the  myth  of  Orion  ?  Point  out 
the  constellation  on  the  map  of  the  heavens. 
Where  is  the  Red  Sea  ?  Who  was  Busiris  ?  By 
what  other  name  was  he  known  ?  Who  were  the 
Memphian  Chivalry  ?  " 


88  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

Here  is  material  for  exhaustive  research  in 
geography,  ancient  and  modern,  history,  botany, 
astronomy,  meteorology,  chronology,  and  archae 
ology.  The  industrious  student  may  get  almost 
as  much  information  out  of  "  Paradise  Lost "  as 
from  one  of  those  handy  compilations  of  useful 
knowledge,  which  are  sold  on  the  railway  cars  for 
twenty-five  cents.  As  for  the  poetry  of  Milton, 
that  is  another  matter. 

Next  to  the  temptation  to  use  a  poem  as  a 
receptacle  for  a  mass  of  collateral  information 
is  that  to  use  it  for  the  display  of  one's  own 
penetration.  As  in  the  one  case  it  is  treated  as 
if  it  were  an  encyclopaedia  article,  in  the  other 
it  is  treated  as  if  it  were  a  verbal  puzzle.  It  is 
taken  for  granted  that  the  intention  of  the  poet 
is  to  conceal  thought,  and  the  game  is  for  the 
reader  to  find  it  out.  We  are  hunting  for  hid 
den  meanings,  and  we  greet  one  another  with  the 
grim  salutation  of  the  creatures  in  the  jungle : 
"  Good  hunting !  "  "  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  passage  ?  "  Who  has  not  heard  this  sudden 
question  propounded  in  regard  to  the  most  trans 
parent  sentence  from  an  author  who  is  deemed 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  39 

worthy  of  study  ?  The  uninitiated,  in  the  sim 
plicity  of  his  heart,  might  answer  that  he  proba 
bly  means  what  he  says.  Not  at  all;  if  that 
were  so,  "  what  are  we  here  for  ?  "  We  are  here 
to  find  hidden  meanings,  and  one  who  finds  the 
meaning  simple  must  be  stopped,  as  Armado 
stops  Moth,  with 

"  Define,  define,  well-educated  infant." 

It  is  a  verbal  masquerade  to  which  we  have  been 
invited.  No  knowing  what  princes  in  disguise, 
as  well  as  anarchists  and  nihilists  and  other  ob 
jectionably  interesting  persons,  may  be  discov 
ered  when  the  time  for  unmasking  comes. 

Now,  the  effect  of  all  this  is  that  many  persons 
turn  away  from  the  poets  altogether.  Why 
should  they  spend  valuable  time  in  trying  to 
unravel  the  meaning  of  lines  which  were  in 
vented  to  baffle  them  ?  There  are  plenty  of 
things  we  do  not  understand,  without  going  out 
of  our  way  to  find  them.  Then,  as  Pope  ob 
serves, 

"  True  No-meaning  puzzles  more  than  Wit." 

The  poets  themselves,  as  if  conscious  that  they 
are  objects  of  suspicion,  are  inclined  to  be  apo- 


40  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

logetic,  and  endeavor  to  show  that  they  are  doing 
business  on  a  sound  prosaic  basis.  Wordsworth 
set  the  example  of  such  painstaking  self -justifi 
cation.  His  conscience  compelled  him  to  make 
amends  to  the  literal  minded  Public  for  poetic 
indiscretions,  and  to  offer  to  settle  all  claims  for 
damages.  What  a  shame-faced  excuse  he  makes 
for  the  noble  lines  on  Rob  Roy's  grave.  "  I 
have  since  been  told  that  I  was  misinformed 
as  to  the  burial-place  of  Rob  Roy  ;  if  so,  I  may 
plead  in  excuse  that  I  wrote  on  apparently  good 
authority,  namely  that  of  a  well-educated  lady 
who  lived  at  the  head  of  the  lake." 

One  is  reminded  of  the  preface  to  the  works 
of  The  Sweet  Singer  of  Michigan  :  "  This  little 
book  is  composed  of  truthful  pieces.  All  those 
which  speak  of  being  killed,  died,  or  drowned 
are  truthful  songs,  others  are  more  truth  than 
poetry." 

It  is  against  this  mistaken  conscientiousness 
that  the  Gentle  Reader  protests.  He  insists  that 
the  true  "defense  of  poesy"  is  that  it  has  an 
altogether  different  function  from  prose.  It  is 
not  to  be  appreciated  by  the  prosaic  understand 
ing  ;  unless,  indeed,  that  awkward  faculty  be 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  41 

treated  to  some  Delsartean  decomposing  exer 
cises  to  get  rid  of  its  stiffness. 

"  When  I  want  more  truth  than  poetry,"  he 
says,  "  I  will  go  directly  to  The  Sweet  Singer  of 
Michigan,  or  I  will  inquire  of  the  well-educated 
lady  who  lives  at  the  head  of  the  lake.  I  do  not 
like  to  have  a  poet  troubled  about  such  small 
matters." 

Then  he  reads  with  approval  the  remarks  of 
one  of  his  own  order  who  lived  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  who  protests  against  those  "  who  take 
away  the  liberty  of  a  poet  and  fetter  his  feet  in 
the  shackles  of  an  historian.  For  why  should  a 
poet  doubt  in  story  to  mend  the  intrigues  of 
fortune  by  more  delightful  conveyances  of  prob 
able  fictions  because  austere  historians  have  en 
tered  into  bond  to  truth;  an  obligation  which 
were  in  poets  as  foolish  and  unnecessary  as  is 
the  bondage  of  false  martyrs,  who  lie  in  chains 
for  a  mistaken  opinion.  But  by  this  I  would 
imply  that  truth,  narrative  and  past,  is  the  idol 
of  historians  (who  worship  a  dead  thing),  and 
truth  operative  and  by  effects  continually  alive  is 
the  mistress  of  poets,  who  hath  not  her  existence 
in  matter  but  in  reason." 


42  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

I  am  well  aware  that  the  attitude  of  the  Gen 
tle  Reader  seems  to  many  strenuous  persons  to  be 
unworthy  of  our  industrial  civilization.  These 
persons  insist  that  we  shall  make  hard  work  of 
our  poetry,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  preserve 
our  self-respect.  Here  as  elsewhere  they  insist 
upon  the  stern  law  that  if  a  man  will  not  labor 
neither  shall  he  eat.  Even  the  poems  of  an  ear 
lier  and  simpler  age  which  any  child  can  under 
stand  must  be  invested  with  some  artificial  diffi 
culty.  The  learned  guardians  of  these  treasures 
insist  that  they  cannot  be  appreciated  unless 
there  has  been  much  preliminary  wrestling  with 
a  "  critical  apparatus,"  and  much  delving  among 
"original  sources."  This  is  the  same  principle 
that  makes  the  prudent  householder  provide  a 
sharp  saw  and  a  sufficient  pile  of  cord  wood  as 
a  test  to  be  applied  to  the  stranger  who  asks  for  a 
breakfast.  There  is  much  academic  disapproval 
of  one  who  in  defiance  of  all  law  insists  on  enjoy 
ing  poetry  after  his  own  "  undressed,  unpolished, 
uneducated,  unpruned,  untrained,  or  rather  unlet 
tered,  or  ratherest  unconfirmed  fashion."  I,  how 
ever,  so  thoroughly  sympathize  with  the  Gentle 
Reader  that  I  desire  to  present  his  point  of  view. 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  48 

To  understand  poetry  is  a  vain  ambition.  That 
which  we  fully  understand  is  the  part  that  is  not 
poetry.  It  is  that  which  passes  our  understand 
ing  which  has  the  secret  in  itself.  There  is  an 
incommunicable  grace  that  defies  all  attempts  at 
analysis.  Poetry  is  like  music  ;  it  is  fitted,  not  to 
define  an  idea  or  to  describe  a  fact,  but  to  voice 
a  mood.  The  mood  may  be  the  mood  of  a  very 
simple  person,  —  the  mood  of  a  shepherd  watch 
ing  his  flocks,  or  of  a  peasant  in  the  fields  ;  or, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  the  mood  of  a  phi 
losopher  whose  mind  has  been  engrossed  with  the 
most  subtle  problems  of  existence.  But  in  each 
case  the  mood,  by  some  suggestion,  must  be  com 
municated  to  us.  Thoughts  and  facts  must  be 
transfigured  ;  they  must  come  to  us  as  through 
some  finer  medium.  As  we  are  told  that  we 
must  experience  religion  before  we  know  what 
religion  is,  so  we  must  experience  poetry.  The 
poet  is  the  enchanter,  and  we  are  the  willing  vic 
tims  of  his  spells  :  — 

"  Would'st  thou  see 

A  man  i'  th'  clouds  and  hear  him  speak  to  thee  ? 
Would'st  thou  be  in  a  dream  and  yet  not  sleep  ? 
Or  would'st  thou  in  a  moment  laugh  and  weep  ? 


44  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

Wouldest  thou  lose  thyself  and  catch  no  harm  ? 
And  find  thyself  again  without  a  charm  ? 

O  then  come  hither 
And  lay  my  book,  thy  head  and  heart  together." 

Only  the  reader  who  yields  to  the  charm  can 
dream  the  dream.  The  poet  may  weave  his  story 
of  the  most  common  stuff,  but  "  there  's  magic  in 
the  web  of  it."  If  we  are  conscious  of  this  magi 
cal  power,  we  forgive  the  lack  of  everything  else. 
The  poet  may  be  as  ignorant  as  Aladdin  himself, 
but  he  has  a  strange  power  over  our  imagina 
tions.  At  his  word  they  obey,  traversing  conti 
nents,  building  palaces,  painting  pictures.  They 
say,  "We  are  ready  to  obey  as  thy  slaves,  and 
the  slaves  of  all  that  have  that  lamp  in  their 
hands,  —  we  and  the  other  slaves  of  the  lamp." 

This  is  the  characteristic  of  the  poet's  power. 
He  does  not  construct  a  work  of  the  imagina 
tion, —  he  makes  our  imaginations  do  that.  That 
is  why  the  fine  passages  of  elaborate  description 
in  verse  are  usually  failures.  The  verse-maker 
describes  accurately  and  at  length.  The  poet 
speaks  a,  word,  and  Presto !  change !  We  are 
transported  into  a  new  land,  and  our  eyes  are 
"baptized  into  the  grace  and  privilege  of  see- 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  45 

ing."  Many  have  taken  in  hand  to  write  de 
scriptions  of  spring;  and  some  few  painstaking 
persons  have  nerved  themselves  to  read  what  has 
been  written.  I  turn  to  the  prologue  of  the 
"  Canterbury  Tales ; "  it  is  not  about  spring,  it 
is  spring,  and  I  am  among  those  who  long  to  go 
upon  a  pilgrimage.  A  description  of  a  jungle 
is  an  impertinence  to  one  who  has  come  under 
the  spell  of  William  Blake's 

"  Tiger  !  tiger !  burning  bright 
In  the  forest  of  the  night." 

Those  fierce  eyes  glowing  there  in  the  darkness 
sufficiently  illuminate  the  scene.  Immediately  it 
is  midsummer,  and  we  feel  all  its  delicious 
languor  when  Browning's  David  sings  of 

"The  sleep  in  the  dried  river-channel  where  bulrushes  tell 
That  the  water  was  wont  to  go  warbling  so  softly  and  well." 

The  first  essential  to  the  enjoyment  of  poetry 
is  leisure.  The  demon  Hurry  is  the  tempter, 
and  knowledge  is  the  forbidden  fruit  in  the 
poet's  paradise.  To  enjoy  poetry,  you  must 
renounce  not  only  your  easily  besetting  sins, 
but  your  easily  besetting  virtues  as  well.  You 
must  not  be  industrious,  or  argumentative,  or 
conscientious,  or  strenuous,  I  do  not  mean  that 


46  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

you  must  be  a  person  of  unlimited  leisure  and 
without  visible  means  of  support.  I  have  known 
some  very  conscientious  students  of  literature 
who,  when  off  duty,  found  time  to  enjoy  poetry. 
I  mean  that  if  you  have  only  half  an  hour  for 
poetry,  for  that  half  hour  you  must  be  in  a 
leisurely  frame  of  mind. 

The  poet  differs  from  the  novelist  in  that  he 
requires  us  to  rest  from  our  labors.  The  ordi 
nary  novel  is  easy  reading,  because  it  takes  us 
as  we  are,  in  the  midst  of  our  hurry.  The  mind 
has  been  going  at  express  speed  all  the  day ; 
what  the  novelist  does  is  to  turn  the  switch,  and 
off  we  go  on  another  track.  The  steam  is  up, 
and  the  wheels  go  around  just  the  same.  The 
great  thing  is  still  action,  and  we  eagerly  turn 
the  pages  to  see  what  is  going  to  happen  next,  — 
unless  we  are  reading  some  of  our  modern  real 
istic  studies  of  character.  Even  then  we  are 
lured  on  by  the  expectation  that,  at  the  last 
moment,  something  may  happen.  But  when  we 
turn  to  the  poets,  we  are  in  the  land  of  the  lotus- 
eaters.  The  atmosphere  is  that  of  a  perfect  day, 

"  Whereon  it  is  enough  for  me 
Not  to  he  doing,  but  to  be." 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  47 

Into  this  land  our  daily  cares  cannot  follow  us. 
It  is  an 

"  enchanted  land,  we  know  not  where, 
But  lovely  as  a  landscape  in  a  dream." 

Once  in  this  enchanted  country,  haste  seems 
foolish.  Why  should  we  toil  on  as  if  we  were 
walking  for  a  wager?  It  is  as  if  one  had  the 
privilege  of  joining  Izaak  Walton  as  he  loiters 
in  the  cool  shade  of  a  sweet  honeysuckle  hedge, 
and  should  churlishly  trudge  on  along  the  dusty 
highway  rather  than  accept  the  gentle  angler's 
invitation  :  "  Pray,  let  us  rest  ourselves  in  this 
sweet,  shady  arbor  of  jessamine  and  myrtle ;  and 
I  will  requite  you  with  a  bottle  of  sack,  and  when 
you  have  pledged  me,  I  will  repeat  the  verses  I 
promised  you."  One  may,  as  a  matter  of  strict 
conscience,  be  both  a  pedestrian  and  a  prohibi 
tionist,  and  yet  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  decline 
such  an  invitation. 

The  poets  who  delight  us  with  their  verses  are 
not  always  serious-minded  persons  with  an  im 
portant  thought  to  communicate.  When  I  read, 

"  In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree," 

I  am  not  a  bit  wiser  than  I  was  before,  but  I  am 


48  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

a  great  deal  happier  ;  although  I  have  not  the 
slightest  idea  where  Xanadu  was,  and  only  the 
vaguest  notion  of  Kubla  Khan. 

There  are  poems  whose  charm  lies  in  their 
illusiveness.  Fancy  any  one  trying  to  explain 
Rossetti's  "Blessed  Damozel."  Yet  when  the 
mood  is  on  us  we  see  her  as  she  leans 

"  From  the  gold  bar  of  Heaven  : 
Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 
Of  waters  stilled  at  even  ; 
She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand 
And  the  stars  in  her  hair  were  seven." 

We  look  over  the  mystic  ramparts  and  are 
dimly  conscious  that 

"  the  souls  mounting1  up  to  God 
Went  by  her  like  thin  flames." 

This  is  not  astronomy  nor  theology,  nor  any  of  the 
things  we  know  all  about  —  it  is  only  poetry. 

Let  no  one  trouble  me  by  attempting  to  eluci 
date  "  Childe  Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  came." 
I  do  not  care  for  a  Baedeker.  I  prefer  to  lose 
my  way.  I  love  the  darkness  rather  than  light.  I 
do  not  care  for  a  topographical  chart  of  the  hills 
that 

"  like  giants  at  a  hunting  lay, 
Chin  upon  hand." 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  49 

The  mood  in  which  we  enjoy  such  poetry  is 
that  described  in  Emerson's  "  Forerunners." 

"  Long  I  followed  happy  guides, 
I  could  never  reach  their  sides. 

But  no  speed  of  mine  avails 

To  hunt  upon  their  shining  trails. 

On  eastern  hills  I  see  their  smokes, 
Mixed  with  mist  by  distant  lochs. 
I  met  many  travelers 
Who  the  road  had  surely  kept : 
They  saw  not  my  fine  revelers." 

If  our  thoughts  make  haste  to  join  these  "  fine 
revelers,"  rejoicing  in  the  sense  of  freedom  and 
mystery,  delighting  in  the  mist  and  the  wind, 
careless  of  attaining  so  that  we  may  follow  the 
shining  trails,  all  is  well. 

As  there  are  poems  which  are  not  meant  to  be 
understood,  so  there  are  poems  that  are  not  meant 
to  be  read  ;  that  is,  to  be  read  through.  There  is 
Keats's  "  Endymion,"  for  instance.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  get  on  with  it.  Yet  it  is  delight 
ful,  —  that  is  the  very  reason  why  I  do  not  care 
to  get  on  with  it.  Wherever  I  begin,  I  feel  that 
I  might  as  well  stay  where  I  am.  It  is  a  sweet 
wilderness  into  which  the  reader  is  introduced. 


50  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

"  Paths  there  were  many, 

Winding  through  palmy  fern  and  rushes  fenny 
And  ivy  banks ;  all  leading  pleasantly 
To  a  wide  lawn.     .     .     . 

Who  could  tell 

The  freshness  of  the  space  of  heaven  above, 
Edged  round  with  dark  tree-tops  ?  —  through  which  a  dove 
Would  often  beat  its  wings,  and  often,  too, 
A  little  cloud  would  move  across  the  blue." 

We  are  brought  into  the  very  midst  of  this  plea 
santness.  Deep  in  the  wood  we  see  fair  faces  and 
garments  white.  We  see  the  shepherds  coming 
to  the  woodland  altar. 

"  A  crowd  of  shepherds  with  as  sunburnt  looks 
As  may  be  read  of  in  Arcadian  books  ; 
Such  as  sat  list'ning  round  Apollo's  pipe 
When  the  great  deity,  for  earth  too  ripe, 
Let  his  divinity  o'erflowing  die 
In  music,  through  the  vales  of  Thessaly." 

We  see  the  venerable  priest  pouring  out  the 
sweet-scented  wine,  and  then  we  see  the  young 
Endymion  himself :  — 

"  He  seemed 

To  common  lookers-on  like  one  who  dreamed 
Of  idleness  in  groves  Elysian." 

What  happened  next?  What  did  Endymion 
do  ?  Really,  I  do  not  know.  It  is  so  much 
pleasanter,  at  this  point,  to  close  the  book,  and 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  51 

dream  "  of  idleness  in  groves  Elysian."  The 
chances  are  that  when  one  turns  to  the  poem 
again  he  will  not  begin  where  he  left  off,  but  at 
the  beginning,  and  read  as  if  he  had  never  read 
it  before  ;  or  rather,  with  more  enjoyment  because 

he  has  read  it  so  many  times :  — 

> 

"  A  thing-  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever  : 
Its  loveliness  increases ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness  ;  but  still  will  keep 
A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 
Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing." 

Shelley  describes  a  mood  such  as  Keats  brings 
to  us :  — 

"  My  spirit  like  a  charmed  bark  doth  swim 
Upon  the  liquid  waves  of  thy  sweet  singing 
Far  away  into  regions  dim 
Of  rapture,  as  a  boat  with  swift  sails  winging 
Its  way  adown  some  many-winding  river." 

He  who  finds  himself  afloat  upon  the  "  many- 
winding  river"  throws  aside  the  laboring  oar.  It 
is  enough  to  float  on,  —  he  cares  not  whither. 

What  greater  pleasure  is  there  than  in  the 
44  Idylls  of  the  King  "  provided  we  do  not  study 
them,  but  dream  them.  We  must  enter  into  the 
poet's  own  mood :  — 


32  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

"  I  seemed 

To  sail  with  Arthur  under  looming-  shores, 
Point  after  point,  till  on  to  dawn,  when  dreams 
Begin  to  feel  the  truth  and  stir  of  day." 

It  is  good  to  be  there,  in  that  far-off  time,  good 
to  come  to  Camelot :  — 

"  Built  by  old  king's,  age  after  age, 
So  strange  and  rich  and  dim.'' 

All  we  see  of  kings,  and  magicians,  and  ladies, 
and  knights  is  "strange  and  rich  and  dim." 
Over  everything  is  a  luminous  haze.  There  are 

"  hollow  tramplings  up  and  down, 
And  muffled  voices  heard,  and  shadows  past." 

There  is  the  flashing  of  swords,  the  weaving  of 
spells,  the  seeing  of  visions.  All  these  things 
become  real  to  us ;  not  simply  the  stainless  king 
and  the  sinful  queen,  the  prowess  of  Lancelot 
and  the  love  of  Elaine,  but  the  magic  of  Merlin 
and  the  sorceries  of  Vivien,  with  her  charms 

"  Of  woven  paces  and  of  waving  hands." 

And  we  must  stand  at  last  with  King  Arthur 
on  the  shore  of  the  mystic  sea,  and  see  the  barge 
come  slowly  with  the  three  queens,  "  black-stoled, 
black-hooded,  like  a  dream ;  "  and  hear  across 
the  water  a  cry, 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  53 

"As  it  were  one  voice,  an  agony 
Of  lamentation,  like  a  wind  that  shrills 
All  night  in  a  waste  land,  where  no  one  conies, 
Or  hath  come,  since  the  making  of  the  world." 

But  what  good  is  there  in  all  this  ?  Why  waste 
time  on  idle  dreams  ?  We  hear  Walt  Whitman's 
challenge  to  romantic  poetry  :  — 

"Arthur  vanished  with  all  his  knights,  Merlin  and  Lancelot 
and  Galahad,  all  gone,  dissolved  utterly  like  an  ex 
halation  ; 

Embroidered,  dazzling,  foreign  world,  with  all  its  gorgeous 
legends,  myths, 

Its  kings  and  castles  proud,  its  priests  and  warlike  lords  and 
courtly  dames, 

Passed  to  its  charnel  vault,  coffined  with  crown  and  armor  on, 

Blazoned  with  Shakspere's  purple  page 

And  dirged  by  Tennyson's  sweet  sad  rhyme." 

Away  with  the  old  romance  !  Make  room  for  the 
modern  bard,  who  is 

"  Bluffed  not  a  bit  by  drain-pipes,  gasometers,  and  artificial 
fertilizers." 

The  Gentle  Reader,  also,  is  not  to  be  bluffed  by 
any  useful  things,  however  unpleasant  they  may 
be,  but  he  winces  a  little  as  he  reads  that  the 
"  far  superber  themes  for  poets  and  for  art  "  in 
clude  the  teaching  by  the  poet  of  how 


54  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

"  To  use  the  hammer  and  the  saw  (rip  or  cross-cut), 
To  cultivate  a  turn  for  carpentering,  plastering1,  painting, 
To  work  as  tailor,  tailoress,  nurse,  hostler,  porter, 
To  invent  a  little  something  ingenious  to  aid  the  washing, 
cooking,  cleaning." 

The  Muse  of  Poetry  shrieks  at  the  mighty  lines 
in  praise  of  "leather-dressing,  coach -making, 
boiler-making/'  and  the  rest.  Boiler-making,  she 
protests,  is  a  useful  industry  and  highly  to  be 
commended,  but  it  is  not  music.  When  asked 
to  give  a  reason  why  she  should  not  receive  all 
these  things  as  poetry,  the  Muse  is  much  em 
barrassed.  "  It  's  all  true,"  she  says.  "  Leather- 
dressing  and  boiler-making  are  undoubted  real 
ities,  while  Arthur  and  Lancelot  may  be  myths." 
Yet  she  is  not  quite  ready  to  be  off  with  the  old 
love  and  on  with  the  new,  —  it  's  all  so  sudden. 

Whitman  himself  furnishes  the  best  illustra 
tions  of  the  difference  between  poetry  and  prose. 
He  comes  like  another  Balaam  to  prophesy 
against  those  who  associate  poetry  with  beauty 
of  form  and  melody  of  words ;  and  then  the 
poetic  spirit  seizes  upon  him  and  lifts  him  into 
the  region  of  harmony.  In  the  Song  of  the 
Universal  he  declares  that  — 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  56 

"  From  imperfection's  murkiest  cloud 
Darts  always  forth  one  ray  of  perfect  light, 
One  flash  of  heaven's  glory. 
To  fashion's,  customs  discord, 
To  the  mad  Babel's  din,  the  deafening  orgies, 
Soothing  each  lull,  a  strain  is  heard,  just  heard 
From  some  far  shore,  the  final  chorus  sounding. 
O  the  blest  eyes,  the  happy  hearts 
That  see,  that  know  the  guiding  thread  so  fine 
Along  the  mighty  labyrinth." 

There  speaks  the  poet  declaring  the  true  faith, 
which  except  a  man  believe  he  is  condemned 
everlastingly  to  the  outer  darkness.  His  task 
is  selective.  No  matter  about  the  murki- 
ness  of  the  cloud  he  must  make  us  see  the 
ray  of  perfect  light.  In  the  mad  Babel-din  he 
must  hear  and  repeat  the  strain  of  pure  music. 
As  to  the  field  of  choice,  it  may  be  as  wide  as 
the  world,  but  he  must  choose  as  a  poet,  and  not 
after  the  manner  of  the  man  with  the  muck-rake. 

"  In  this  broad  earth  of  ours 
Amid  the  measureless  grossness  and  the  slag, 
Inclosed  and  safe  within  the  central  heart 
Nestles  the  seed  perfection." 

When  the  poet  delves  in  the  grossness  and  the 
slag,  he  does  so  as  one  engaged  in  the  search  for 
the  perfect. 


56  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

"  My  feeling,"  says  the  Gentle  Reader,  "  about 
the  proper  material  for  poetry,  is  very  much  like 
that  of  Whitman  in  regard  to  humanity  — 

'  When  warrantee  deeds  loafe  in  chairs  opposite,  and  are  ray 

friendly  companions, 
I  intend  to  reach  them  my  hand  and  make  as  much  of  them  as 

I  do  of  men  and  women  like  you.' 

"  So  I  say,  when  drain  pipes  and  cross-cut  saws 
and  the  beef  on  the  butcher's  stalls  are  invested 
with  beautiful  associations  and  thrill  my  soul  in 
some  mysterious  fashion,  then  I  will  make  as 
much  of  these  things  as  I  do  of  the  murmuring 
pines  and  the  hemlocks.  When  a  poet  makes 
bank  clerks  and  stevedores  and  wood-choppers 
to  loom  before  my  imagination  in  heroic  pro 
portions,  I  will  receive  them  as  I  do  the  heroes 
of  old.  But,  mind  you,  the  miracle  must  be 
actually  performed ;  I  will  not  be  put  off  with  a 
prospectus." 

Now  and  then  the  miracle  is  performed.  We 
are  made  to  feel  the  romance  that  surrounds  the 
American  pioneer,  we  hear  the 

"  Crackling  hlows  of  axes  sounding  musically,  driven  by  strong 
arms." 

But,  for  the  most  part,  Whitman,  when  under 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  57 

the  influence  of  deep  feeling,  forgets  his  theory, 
and  uses  as  his  symbols  those  things  which  have 
already  been  invested  with  poetical  associations. 
Turn  to  that  marvelous  dirge,  "  When  Lilacs  last 
in  the  Dooryard  bloomed."  There  is  here  no 
catalogue  of  facts  or  events,  no  parade  of  glaring 
realism.  Tennyson's  "  sweet  sad  rhyme  "  has 
nowhere  more  delicious  music  than  we  find  in 
the  measured  cadence  of  these  lines.  We  are 
not  told  the  news  of  the  assassination  of  Lincoln 
as  a  man  on  the  street  might  tell  it.  It  comes  to 
us  through  suggestion.  We  are  made  to  feel  a 
mood,  not  to  listen  to  the  description  of  an  event. 
There  is  symbolism,  suggestion,  color,  mystery. 
We  inhale  the  languorous  fragrance  of  the 
lilacs ;  we  see  the  drooping  star ;  in  secluded 
recesses  we  hear  "  a  shy  and  hidden  bird  "  war 
bling  a  song ;  there  are  dim-lit  churches  and 
shuddering  organs  and  tolling  bells,  and  there  is 
one  soul  heart-broken,  seeing  all  and  hearing  all. 

"  Comrades  mine  and  I  in  the  midst,  and  their  memory  ever  to 

keep,  for  the  dead  I  loved  so  well, 
For  the  sweetest,  wisest  soul  of  all  my  days  and  lands  —  and 

this  for  his  dear  sake, 

Lilac  and  star  and  bird  twined  with  the  chant  of  my  soul, 
There  in  the  fragrant  pines  and  the  cedars  dusk  and  dim." 


58  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

This  is  real  poetry,  and  yet  while  we  yield  to  the 
charm  we  are  conscious  that  it  is  made  up  of  the 
old  familiar  elements. 

Tennyson's  apology  to  a  utilitarian   age   was 
not  needed :  — 

"  Perhaps  some  modern  touches  here  and  there 
Redeemed  it  from  the  charge  of  nothing-ness." 

The  "  modern  touches "  we  can  spare.  The 
modern  life  we  have  always  with  us ;  but  it  is 
a  rare  privilege  to  enjoy  the  best  things  of  the 
past.  It  is  the  poet  who  is  the  minister  of  this 
fine  grace.  The  historian  tells  us  what  men  of 
the  past  did,  the  philosopher  tells  us  how  their 
civilizations  developed  and  decayed  ;  we  smile  at 
their  superstitions,  and  pride  ourselves  upon  our 
progress.  But  the  ethereal  part  has  vanished, '. 
that  which  made  their  very  superstitions  beauti 
ful  and  cast  a  halo  over  their  struggles.  These 
are  the  elements  out  of  which  the  poet  creates 
his  world,  into  which  we  may  enter.  In  the 
order  of  historic  development  chivalry  must  give 
way  before  democracy,  and  loyalty  to  the  king 
must  fade  before  the  increasing  sense  of  liberty 
and  equality ;  but  the  highest  ideals  of  chivalry 
may  remain.  Imaginative  and  romantic  poetry 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  59 

has  this  high  mission  to  preserve  what  otherwise 
would  be  lost.  It  lifts  the  mind  above  the  daily 
routine  into  the  region  of  pure  joy.  Whatever 
necessary  changes  take  place  in  the  world  we 
find,  in 

"  All  lovely  tales  which  we  have  heard  or  read, 
An  endless  fountain  of  immortal  drink, 
Pouring  unto  us  from  the  heaven's  brink." 

I  have  said  that  one  may  be  a  true  poet  with 
out  having  any  very  important  thought  to  com 
municate,  but  it  must  be  said  that  most  of  the 
great  poets  have  been  serious  thinkers  as  well. 
They  have  had  their  philosophy  of  life,  their 
thoughts  about  nature  and  about  human  duty 
and  destiny.  It  is  the  function  of  the  poet  not 
only  to  create  for  us  an  ideal  world  and  to  fill  it 
with  ideal  creatures,  but  also  to  reveal  to  us  the 
ideal  element  in  the  actual  world. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  poetical  is,"  says  Audrey. 
"  Is  it  honest  in  deed  and  word  ?  Is  it  a  true 
thing  ?  "  We  must  not  answer  with  Touchstone  : 
"  No,  truly !  for  the  truest  poetry  is  the  most 
feigning." 

The  poetical  interpretation  of  the  world  is  not 


60  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

feigning  ;  it  is  a  true  thing,  —  the  truest  thing  of 
which  we  can  know.  The  grace  and  sublimity 
which  we  see  through  the  poet's  eyes  are  real. 
We  must,  however,  still  insist  on  our  main  con 
tention.  The  poet,  if  he  is  to  hold  us,  must  always 
be  a  poet.  His  thought  must  be  in  solution, 
and  not  appear  as  a  dull  precipitate  of  prose. 
He  may  be  philosophical,  but  he  must  not  phi 
losophize.  He  may  be  moral,  but  he  must  not 
moralize.  He  may  be  religious,  but  let  him  spare 
his  homilies. 

"  Whatever  the  philosopher  saith  should  be 
done,"  said  Sir  Philip  Sidney ;  "  the  peerless 
poet  giveth  a  perfect  picture  of  it.  He  yieldeth 
to  the  power  of  the  mind  an  image  of  that  of 
which  the  philosopher  bestoweth  but  a  wordish 
description.  .  .  .  The  poet  doth  not  only  show 
the  way,  but  doth  give  so  sweet  a  prospect  unto 
the  way  as  will  entice  any  man  to  enter  it.  Nay, 
he  doth  as  if  your  journey  should  lie  through  a 
fair  vineyard,  at  first  give  you  a  cluster  of 
grapes." 

We  have  a  right  to  ask  our  poets  to  be  plea 
sant  companions  even  when  they  discourse  on  the 
highest  themes.  Even  when  they  have  theories 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  61 

of  their  own  about  what  we  should  enjoy,  let  us 
not  allow  them  to  foist  upon  us  "  wordish  descrip 
tions  "  of  excellent  things  instead  of  poetry. 
When  the  poet  invites  me  to  go  with  him  I  first 
ask,  "  Let  me  taste  your  grapes." 

You  remember  Mr.  By-ends  in  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  —  how  he  said  of  Christian  and  Hope 
ful,  "  They  are  headstrong  men  who  think  it  their 
duty  to  rush  on  in  their  journey  in  all  weathers, 
while  I  am  for  waiting  for  wind  or  tide.  I  am 
for  Religion  when  he  walks  in  his  silver  slippers 
in  the  sunshine."  That  was  very  reprehensible 
in  Mr.  By-ends,  and  he  richly  deserved  the  re 
buke  which  was  afterward  administered  to  him. 
But  when  we  change  the  subject,  and  speak,  not 
of  religion,  but  of  poetry,  I  confess  that  I  am 
very  much  of  Mr.  By-ends'  way  of  thinking. 
There  are  literary  Puritans  who,  when  they  take 
up  the  study  of  a  poet,  make  it  a  point  of  con 
science  to  go  on  to  the  bitter  end  of  his  poetical 
works.  If  they  start  with  Wordsworth  on  his 
"  Excursion,"  they  trudge  on  in  all  weathers. 
They  do  the  poem,  as  when  going  abroad  they  do 
Europe  in  six  weeks.  As  the  revival  hymn  says, 
"doing  is  a  deadly  thing."  Let  me  say,  good 


62  THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY 

Christian  and  Hopeful,  that  though  I  admire 
your  persistence,  I  cannot  accompany  you.  I 
am  for  a  poet  only  when  he  puts  on  his  singing 
robes  and  walks  in  the  sunshine.  As  for  those 
times  when  he  goes  on  prosing  in  rhyme  from 
force  of  habit,  I  think  it  is  more  respectful  as 
well  as  more  pleasurable  to  allow  him  to  walk 
alone. 

Shelley's  definition  of  poetry  as  "  the  record  of 
the  best  and  happiest  moments  of  the  happiest 
and  best  minds  "  suggests  the  whole  duty  of  the 
reader.  All  that  is  required  of  him  is  to  obey 
the  Golden  Rule.  There  must  be  perfect  reci 
procity  and  fraternal  sympathy.  The  poet,  being 
human,  has  his  unhappy  hours,  when  all  things 
are  full  of  labor.  Upon  such  hours  the  Gentle 
Reader  does  not  intrude.  In  their  happiest  mo 
ments  they  meet  as  if  by  chance.  In  this  en 
counter  they  are  pleased  with  one  another  and 
with  the  world  they  live  in.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  ?  It  is  indeed  a  wonderful  world,  trans 
figured  in  the  light  of  thought.  Familiar  objects 
lose  their  sharp  outlines  and  become  symbols  of 
universal  realities.  Likenesses,  before  unthought 


THE  ENJOYMENT  OF  POETRY  63 

of,  appear.  Nature  becomes  a  mirror  of  the  soul, 
and  answers  instantly  to  each  passing  mood. 
Words  are  no  longer  chosen,  they  come  unbidden 
as  the  poet  and  his  reader 

"  mount  to  Paradise 
By  the  stairway  of  surprise." 


'N  "  The  Last  Tournament  "  we  are  told  how 

"  Dagonet,  the  fool,  whom  Gawain  in  his  moods 
Had  made  mock-knight  of  Arthur's  Table  Round, 
At  Camelot,  high  above  the  yellowing  woods, 
Danced  like  a  withered  leaf  before  the  hall." 

That  is  the  view  which  many  worthy  people  take 
of  the  humorist.  He  is  Sir  Dagonet.  Among  the 
serious  persons  who  are  doing  the  useful  work 
of  the  world,  discovering  its  laws,  classifying  its 
facts,  forecasting  its  future,  this  light-minded, 
light-hearted  creature  comes  with  his  untimely 
jests.  In  their  idle  moments  they  tolerate  the 
mock-knight,  but  when  important  business  is  on 
hand  they  dismiss  him,  as  did  Sir  Tristram,  with 

"  Why  skip  ye  so,  Sir  Fool  ?  " 

This  half-contemptuous  view  is  very  painful  to 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  65 

the  Gentle  Reader  who,  though  he  may  seem  to 
some  to  take  his  poetry  too  lightly,  is  disposed  to 
take  his  humor  rather  seriously.  Humor  seems 
to  him  to  belong  to  the  higher  part  of  our  nature. 
It  is  not  the  enjoyment  of  a  grotesque  image  in  a 
convex  mirror,  but,  rather,  the  recognition  of 
fleeting  forms  of  truth. 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  funny  book,  Gentle 
Reader,"  says  the  Professional  Humorist. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answers,  struggling  against 
his  melancholy  forebodings.  "  You  will  pardon 
me  if  I  seem  to  take  my  pleasures  sadly." 

It  is  hard  for  him  to  force  a  smile  as  he  watches 
the  procession  of  jokes,  each  as  broad  as  it  is  long. 
This  ostentatious  jocosity  is  not  to  his  liking. 

"  Thackeray,"  he  says,  "  defines  humor  as  a 
mixture  of  love  and  wit.  Humor,  therefore,  being 
of  the  nature  of  love,  should  not  behave  itself  un 
seemly." 

He  cannot  bear  to  see  it  obtruding  itself  upon 
the  public.  Its  proper  habit  is  to  hide  from  ob 
servation  "  as  if  the  wren  taught  it  concealment." 
When  a  Happy  Thought  ventures  abroad  it  should 
be  as  a  royal  personage  traveling  incognito. 

This  is  a  big  world,  and  it  is  serious  business 


66  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

to  live  in  it.  It  makes  many  demands.  It  re 
quires  intensity  of  thought  and  strenuousness  of 
will  and  solidity  of  judgment.  Great  tasks  are 
set  before  us.  We  catch  fugitive  glimpses  of 
beauty,  and  try  to  fix  them  forever  in  perfect 
form,  —  that  is  the  task  of  art.  We  see  thou 
sands  of  disconnected  facts,  and  try  to  arrange 
them  in  orderly  sequence,  —  that  is  the  task  of 
science.  We  see  the  ongoing  of  eternal  force, 
and  seek  some  reason  for  it,  —  that  is  the  task  of 
philosophy. 

But  when  art  and  science  and  philosophy  have 
done  their  best,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  valuable 
material  left  over.  There  are  facts  that  will  not 
fit  into  any  theory,  but  which  keep  popping  up 
at  us  from  the  most  unexpected  places.  Nobody 
can  tell  where  they  come  from  or  why  they  are 
here  ;  but  here  they  are.  Try  as  hard  as  we  may 
for  perfection,  the  net  result  of  our  labors  is  an 
amazing  variety  of  imperf  ectnesses.  We  are  sur 
prised  at  our  own  versatility  in  being  able  to  fail 
in  so  many  different  ways.  Everything  is  under 
the  reign  of  strict  law ;  but  many  queer  things 
happen,  nevertheless.  What  are  we  to  do  with 
all  the  waifs  and  strays?  What  are  we  to  do 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  67 

with  all  the  sudden  incongruities  which  mock  at 
our  wisdom  and  destroy  the  symmetry  of  our 
ideas  ? 

The  solemnly  logical  intelligence  ignores  their 
existence.  It  does  not  trouble  itself  about  any 
thing  which  does  not  belong  to  its  system.  The 
system  itself  has  such  perfect  beauty  that  it  is  its 
own  excuse  for  being. 

More  sensitive  and  less  self-centred  natures  do 
not  find  the  way  so  easy.  They  allow  themselves 
to  be  worried  by  the  incongruities  which  they 
cannot  ignore.  It  seems  to  them  that  whenever 
they  are  in  earnest  the  world  conspires  to  mock 
them.  Continually  they  feel  that  intellect  and 
conscience  are  insulted  by  whipper-snappers  of 
facts  that  have  no  right  to  be  in  an  orderly  uni 
verse.  They  can  expose  a  lie,  and  feel  a  certain 
superiority  in  doing  it ;  but  a  little  unclassified, 
irreconcilable  truth  drives  them  to  their  wit's  end. 
There  it  stands  in  all  its  shameless  actuality  ask 
ing,  "  What  do  you  make  of  me  ?  " 

Just  here  comes  the  beneficent  mission  of 
humor.  It  takes  these  unassorted  realities  that 
are  the  despair  of  the  sober  intelligence,  and 
extracts  from  them  pure  joy.  If  life  depends  on 


68  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

the  perpetual  adjustment  of  the  organism  to  its 
environment,  humor  is  the  means  by  which  the 
intellectual  life  is  sustained  on  those  occasions 
when  the  expected  environment  is  not  there.  The 
adjustment  must  be  made,  without  a  moment's 
warning,  to  an  altogether  new  set  of  conditions. 
We  are  called  upon  to  swap  horses  while  crossing 
the  stream.  It  is  a  method  which  the  serious 
minded  person  does  not  approve.  While  argu 
ing  the  matter  he  is  unhorsed,  and  finds  himself 
floundering  in  the  water.  The  humorist  accepts 
the  situation  instantly.  As  he  scrambles  upon 
his  new  nag  it  is  with  a  sense  of  triumph,  for  the 
moment  at  least,  he  feels  that  he  has  the  best  of 
the  bargain. 

S  One  may  have  learned  to  enjoy  the  sublime, 
the  beautiful,  the  useful,  the  orderly,  but  he  has 
missed  something  if  he  has  not  also  learned  to 
enjoy  the  incongruous,  the  illusive,  and  the  unex 
pected.  Artistic  sensibility  finds  its  satisfaction 
only  in  the  perfect.  Humor  is  the  frank  enjoy 
ment  of  the  imperfect.  Its  objects  are  not  so 
high,  —  but  there  are  more  of  them. 

Evolution  is  a  cosmic  game  of  Pussy  wants  a 
corner.     Each  creature  has  its  eye  on  some  snug 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  69 

corner  where  it  would  rest  in  peace.  Each  cor 
ner  is  occupied  by  some  creature  that  is  not 
altogether  satisfied  and  that  is  on  the  lookout 
for  a  larger  sphere.  There  is  much  beckoning 
between  those  who  are  desirous  of  making  a 
change.  Now  and  then  some  bold  spirit  gives 
up  his  assured  position  and  scrambles  for  some 
thing  better.  The  chances  are  that  the  adven 
turer  finds  it  harder  to  attain  the  coveted  place 
than  he  had  thought.  For  the  fact  is  that  there 
are  not  corners  enough  to  go  around.  If  there 
were  enough  corners,  and  every  one  were  content 
to  stay  in  the  one  where  he  found  himself  at  the 
beginning,  then  the  game  would  be  impossible. 
It  is  well  that  this  never  happens.  Nature  looks 
after  that.  When  things  are  too  homogeneous 
she  breaks  them  up  into  new  and  amazing  kinds 
of  heterogeneity.  It  is  a  good  game,  and  one 
learns  to  like  it  after  he  enters  into  the  spirit 
of  it. 

If  the  Universe  had  a  place  for  everything 
and  everything  was  in  its  place,  there  would  be 
little  demand  for  humor.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  world  is  full  of  all  sorts  of  people,  and  they 
are  not  all  in  their  proper  places.  There  are 


70  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

amazing  incongruities  between  station  and  char- 
acter.  It  is  not  a  world  that  has  been  reduced 
to  order ;  it  is  still  in  the  making.  One  may 
easily  grow  misanthropic  and  pessimistic  by 
dwelling  upon  the  misfits. 

"  As  to  behold  desert  a  beggar  born 
And  needy  nothing  trimmed  in  jollity. 


And  art  made  tongue-tied  by  authority, 
And  simple  truth  miscalled  simplicity, 
And  folly  doctor-like,  controlling  skill, 
And  captive  good  attending  captain  ill." 

But  fortunately  these  incongruities  are  not 
altogether  tragical.  There  are  certain  moods 
when  we  rather  enjoy  seeing  "  needy  nothing 
trimmed  in  jollity."  We  are  pleased  when  Jus 
tice  Shallow  slaps  Sir  John  Falstaff  on  the  back 
and  says,  "  Ha  !  it  was  a  merry  night,  Sir  John." 
We  are  not  irritated  beyond  endurance  because 
in  this  world  where  so  many  virtuous  people  have 
a  hard  time,  such  trifling  fellows  as  Sir  Toby  and 
Sir  Andrew  have  their  cakes  and  ale.  When 
folly  puts  on  doctor-like  airs  it  is  not  always 
disagreeable.  We  would  not  have  Dogberry 
put  off  the  watch  to  give  place  to  some  one  who 
could  pass  the  civil  service  examination. 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  71 

The  humorist,  when  asked  what  he  thinks  of 
the  actual  world,  would  turn  upon  his  questioner 
as  Touchstone  turned  upon  Corin  when  he  was 
asked  how  he  liked  the  shepherd's  life :  — 

"  Hast  any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd  ?  " 
The  world  is  not  at  all  like  the  descriptions  of 
it,  and  yet  he  cannot  take  a  very  gloomy  view  of 
it.  In  respect  to  itself  it  is  a  good  world,  and 
yet  in  respect  that  it  is  not  finished  it  leaves 
much  to  be  desired.  Yet  in  respect  that  it 
leaves  much  to  be  desired,  and  much  to  be  done 
by  us,  it  is  perhaps  better  for  us  than  if  it  were 
finished.  In  respect  that  many  things  happen 
that  are  opposed  to  our  views  of  the  eternal  fit 
ness  of  things,  it  is  a  perplexing  world.  Yet  in 
respect  that  we  have  a  faculty  for  enjoying  the 
occasional  unfitness  of  things,  it  is  delightful. 
On  the  whole,  he  sums  up  with  Touchstone,  "  It 
suits  my  humor  well." 

Humor  is  impossible  to  the  man  of  one  idea. 
There  must  be  at  least  two  ideas  moving  in  oppo- 
site  directions,  so  that  there  may  be  a  collision. 
Such  an  accident  does  not  happen  in  a  mind 
under  economical  management  that  runs  only  one 
train  of  thought  a  day. 


72  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

There  are  many  ideas  that  have  a  very  inse 
cure  tenure.  They  hold  their  own  as  squatters. 
By  and  by  Science  will  come  along  and  evict 
them,  but  in  the  mean  time  these  homely  folk 
make  very  pleasant  neighbors.  All  they  ask  is 
that  we  shall  not  take  them  too  seriously.  That 
a  thing  is  not  to  be  taken  too  seriously  does  not 
imply  that  it  is  either  unreal  or  unimportant :  — 
it  only  means  that  it  is  not  to  be  taken  that 
way.  There  is,  for  example,  a  pickaninny  on  a 
Southern  plantation.  The  anthropologist  mea 
sures  his  skull  and  calls  it  by  a  long  Latin  name. 
The  psychologist  carefully  records  his  nervous 
reactions.  The  pedagogical  expert  makes  him 
the  victim  of  that  form  of  inquisition  known  as 
"  child  study."  The  missionary  perplexes  him 
self  in  vain  attempting  to  get  at  his  soul.  Then 
there  comes  along  a  person  of  another  sort.  At 
the  first  look,  a  genial  smile  of  recognition  comes 
over  the  face  of  this  new  spectator.  He  is  the 
first  one  who  has  seen  the  pickaninny.  The  one 
essential  truth  about  a  black,  chubby,  kinky- 
haired  pickaninny  is  that,  when  he  rolls  up  his 
eyes  till  only  the  whites  are  visible,  he  is  irre 
sistibly  funny.  This  is  what  theologians  term 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  7* 

"  the  substance  of  doctrine  "  concerning  the  pick 
aninny. 

When  Charles  Lamb  slipped  on  the  London 
pavement,  he  found  delight  in  watching  the 
chimney  sweep  who  stood  laughing  at  his  mis 
fortune.  "  There  he  stood  irremovable,  as  though 
the  jest  were  to  last  forever,  with  such  a  max 
imum  of  glee  and  minimum  of  mischief  in  his 
mirth  —  for  the  grin  of  a  genuine  sweep  hath  no 
malice  in  it  —  that  I  could  have  been  content,  if 
the  honor  of  a  gentleman  might  endure  it,  to 
have  remained  his  butt  and  his  mockery  till 
midnight."  There  were  many  middle-aged  Lon 
don  citizens  who  could  no  more  appreciate  that 
kind  of  pleasure  than  a  Hottentot  could  appre 
ciate  an  oratorio.  That  is  only  saying  that  the 
average  citizen  and  the  average  Hottentot  have, 
as  Wordsworth  mildly  puts  it,  "  faculties  which 
they  have  never  used." 


The  hjffh  pWfi  that  burn™*  hojds  among  our 
mftTijaJ^prnnftasfts  ia  fivirlftfttf  whp.n  we  cor>$iflgi^ 
that  it  js  almost  the  only  one  that  jg^uires  that 
we  shall  be  thoroughly  awakfL,  In  our  dreams 
we  have  many  sesthetic  enjoyments,  as  vague 


74  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

splendors  pass  before  us.  At  other  times  there 
is  an  abnormal  sensitiveness  to  the  sovereignty, 
not  to  say  the  despotism  of  ethics.  We  feel 
burdened  with  the  weight  of  unpardonable  sins. 
We  are  able  also  in  our  sleep  to  philosophize 
after  a  fashion  which  is,  for  the  time,  quite  sat 
isfactory.  At  such  times  we  are  sure  that  we 
have  made  important  discoveries;  if  we  could 
only  remember  what  they  were.  A  thousand 
incongruities  pass  through  our  minds,  but  there 
is  one  thing  which  we  cannot  do.  We  cannot 
recognize  that  they  are  incongruous.  Such  a 
discovery  would  immediately  awaken  us. 
Tennyson  tells  how 

"half  awake  I  heard 

The  parson  taking-  wide  and  wider  sweeps, 
Now  harping  on  the  church  commissioners, 
Now  hawking-  at  Geology  and  schism." 

It  would  be  possible  for  the  parson  and  his  con 
gregation  to  keep  on   with   that  sort   of   thing 
Sunday  after  Sunday.     They  would  discover  no 
thing  absurd  in  the  performance,  so  long  as  they 
were  in  their  usual  semi-somnolent  condition, 
sum^ 
t^  a   hospitality 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  75 

fx)ward_jllL--fche  differences  that  are  recognized. 

*> —  •— — ~ — - — — - — . 

Psychologists  Speak  of    the  Asapftiatirm  nf 

It  is  a  pleasant  ^bought,,  but  it  laJm  rftalit 
enlt  tb  fpfjnnp.  Trlftas  tn  qqqnfMfltn  in 
way.  In  many  minds  the  different  groups  are 
divided  by  conventional  lines,  and  there  are 
aristocratic  prejudices  separating  the  classes 
from  the  masses.  The  Working  Hypothesis, 
honest  son  of  toil  that  he  is,  does  not  expect  so 
much  as  a  nod  of  recognition  from  the  High 
Moral  Principle  who  walks  by  in  his  Sunday 
clothes.  The  steady  Habit  does  not  associate 
with  the  high-bred  Sentiment.  They  do  not 
belong  to  the  same  set.  Only  in  the  mind  of 
the  humorist  is  there  a  true  democracy.  Here 
everybody  knows  everybody.  Even  the  priggish 
Higher  Thought  is  not  allowed  to  enjoy  a  sense 
of  superiority.  Plain  Common  Sense  slaps  him 
on  the  back,  calls  him  by  his  first  name,  and  bids 
him  not  make  a  fool  of  himself. 

Of  the  two  ingredients  which  Thackeray  men 
tions,  the  first,  love,  is  that  which  gives  body; 
the  addition  of  wit  gives  the  effervescence.  The 
pleasure  of  wit  lies  in  its  unexpectedness.  In 


76  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

humor  there  is  the  added  pleasure  of  really  liking 
that  which  surprises  us.  It  is  like  meeting  an 
old  friend  in  an  unexpected  place.  "  What,  you 
here  ?  "  we  say.  This  is  the  kind  of  pleasure  we 
get  from  Dr.  Johnson's  reply  to  the  lady  who 
asked  why  he  had  put  a  certain  definition  in  his 
dictionary :  "  Pure  ignorance,  madam." 

The  fact  is  that  long  ago  we  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  one  whom  Bunyan  describes  as 
"  a  brisk  young  lad  named  Ignorance."  He  is 
a  dear  friend  of  ours,  and  we  are  on  very  fami 
liar  terms  with  him  when  we  are  at  home ;  but 
we  do  not  expect  to  meet  him  in  fine  society. 
Suddenly  we  turn  the  corner,  and  we  see  him 
walking  arm  in  arm  with  so  great  a  man  as  Dr. 
Samuel  Johnson.  At  once  we  are  at  our  ease  in 
the  presence  of  the  great  man  ;  it  seems  we  have 
a  mutual  acquaintance. 

Another  element  in  real  humor  is  a  certain, 
detachment  of  mind.  We  must  not  be  afraid, 
or  jealous,  or  angry;  in  order  to  take  a  really 
humorous  view  of  any  character,  we  must  be  in 
a  position  to  see  all  around  it.  If  I  were  brought 
before  Fielding's  Squire  Western  on  charge  of 
poaching,  and  if  I  had  a  pheasant  concealed 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  77 

under  my  coat,  I  should  not  be  able  to  appre 
ciate  what  an  amusing  person  the  squire  is.  I 
should  be  inclined  to  take  him  very  seriously. 

The  small  boy  who  pins  a  paper  to  the  school 
master's  coat  tail  imagines  that  he  has  achieved 
a  masterpiece  of  humor.  But  he  is  not  really  in 
a  position  to  reap  the  fruits  of  his  perilous  ad 
venture.  It  is  a  fearful  and  precarious  joy  which 
he  feels.  What  if  the  schoolmaster  should  turn 
around?  That  would  be  tragedy.  Neither  the 
small  boy  nor  the  schoolmaster  gets  the  full 
flavor  of  humor.  But  suppose  an  old  friend  of 
the  schoolmaster  happens  just  then  to  look  in  at 
the  door.  His  delight  in  the  situation  has  a  mel 
lowness  far  removed  from  the  anxious,  ambigu 
ous  glee  of  the  urchin.  He  knows  that  the  small 
boy  is  not  so  wicked  as  he  thinks  he  is,  and  the 
schoolmaster  is  not  so  terrible  as  he  seems.  He 
remembers  the  time  when  the  schoolmaster  was 
up  to  the  same  pranks.  So,  from  the  assured 
position  of  middle  age,  he  looks  upon  the  small 
boy  that  was  and  upon  the  small  boy  that  is,  and 
finds  them  both  very  good,  —  much  better,  in 
deed,  than  at  this  moment  they  find  each  other. 

It  is  this  sense  of  the  presence  of  a  tolerant 


78  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

spectator,  looking  upon  the  incidents  of  the 
passing  hour,  which  we  recognize  in  the  best 
literature.  Books  that  are  meant  simply  to  be 
funny  are  very  short-lived.  The  first  reception 
of  a  joke  awakens  false  expectations.  It  is  re 
ceived  with  extravagant  heartiness.  But  when, 
encouraged  by  this  hospitality,  it  returns  again 
and  again,  its  welcome  is  worn  out.  There  is 
something  melancholy  in  a  joke  deserted  in  its 
old  age. 

The  test  of  real  literature  is  that  it  will  bear 
repetition.  We  read  over  the  same  pages  again 
and  again,  and  always  with  fresh  delight.  This 
bars  out  all  mere  jocosity.  A  certain  kind  of 
wit,  which  depends  for  its  force  on  mere  verbal 
brilliancy,  has  the  same  effect.  The  writers 
whom  we  love  are  those  whose  humor  does  not 
glare  or  glitter,  but  which  has  an  iridescent 
quality.  It  is  the  perpetual  play  of  light  and 
color  which  enchants  us.  We  are  conscious  all 
the  time  that  the  light  is  playing  on  a  real  thing. 
It  is  something  more  than  a  clever  trick ;  there 
is  an  illumination. 

Erasmus,  in  dedicating  his  "  Praise  of  Folly >r 
to  Sir  Thomas  More,  says :  — 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  79 

"  I  conceived  that  this  would  not  be  least 
approved  by  you,  inasmuch  as  you  are  wont  to 
be  delighted  with  such  kind  of  pleasantry  as  is 
neither  unlearned  nor  altogether  insipid.  Such 
is  your  sweetness  of  temper  that  you  can  and 
like  to  carry  yourself  to  all  men  a  man  of  all 
hours.  Unless  an  overweening  opinion  of  my 
self  may  have  made  me  blind,  I  have  praised 
folly  not  altogether  foolishly.  I  have  moderated 
my  style,  that  the  understanding  reader  may  per 
ceive  that  my  endeavor  is  to  make  mirth  rather 
than  to  bite." 

Erasmus  has  here  described  a  kind  of  humor 
that  is  consistent  with  seriousness  of  purpose. 
The  characteristics  he  notes  are  good  temper, 
insight  into  human  nature,  a  certain  reserve,  and 
withal  a  gentle  irony  that  makes  the  praise  of 
folly  not  unpleasing  to  the  wise.  It  is  a  way  of 
looking  at  things  characteristic  of  men  like 
Chaucer  and  Cervantes  and  Montaigne  and 
Shakespeare,  and  Bunyan  and  Fielding  and  Ad- 
dison,  Goldsmith,  Charles  Lamb  and  Walter 
Scott.  In  America,  we  have  seen  it  in  Irving 
and  Dr.  Holmes  and  James  Russell  Lowell. 

I  have  left  out  of  the  list  one  whom  nature 


80  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

endowed  for  the  supreme  man  of  humor  among 
Englishmen,  —  Jonathan  Swift.  Charles  Lamb 
argues  against  the  common  notion  that  it  is  a 
misfortune  to  a  man  to  have  a  surly  disposition. 
He  says  it  is  not  his  misfortune ;  it  is  the  misfor 
tune  of  his  neighbors.  It  is  our  misfortune  that 
the  man  who  might  have  been  the  English  Cer 
vantes  had  a  surly  disposition.  Dean  Swift's 
humor  would  have  been  irresistible,  if  it  had  only 
been  good  humor. 

One  of  the  best  examples  of  humor  pervading 
a  work  of  the  utmost  seriousness  of  purpose  is 
Bunyan's  "Pilgrim's  Progress."  The  " Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  is  not  a  funny  book ;  the  humor  is  not 
tacked  on  as  a  moral  is  tacked  on  to  a  fable,  nor 
does  it  appear  by  way  of  an  interlude  to  relieve 
the  tension  of  the  mind.  It  is  so  deeply  inter 
fused,  so  a  part  and  parcel  of  the  religious  teach 
ing,  that  many  readers  overlook  it  altogether. 
One  may  read  the  book  a  dozen  times  without  a 
smile,  and  after  that  he  may  recognize  the  touch 
of  the  born  humorist  on  every  page.  Bunyan 
himself  recognized  the  quality  of  his  work  :  — 

"  Some  there  be  that  say  he  laughs  too  loud, 
And  some  do  say  his  head  is  in  a  cloud. 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  81 

One  may,  I  think,  say  both  his  laughs  and  cries 
May  well  be  guessed  at  by  his  wat'ry  eyes. 
Some  things  are  of  that  nature  as  to  make 
One's  fancy  chuckle,  while  his  heart  doth  ache." 

There  speaks  the  real  humorist ;  not  the  Merry 
Andrew  laughing  at  his  meaningless  pranks,  but 
one  whose  quick  imagination  is  at  play  when  his 
conscience  is  most  overtasked.  Even  in  the 
Valley  of  Humiliation,  where  the  fierce  Apollyon 
was  wont  to  fright  the  pilgrims,  they  heard  a  boy 
singing  cheerily,  — 

"  He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall." 

And  Mr.  Great  Heart  said  :  "  Do  you  hear  him  ? 
I  dare  say  that  boy  lives  a  merrier  life,  and 
wears  more  of  the  herb  called  heart's-ease  in  his 
bosom,  than  he  that  is  clad  in  silk  and  velvet." 
It  is  a  fine  spirit  that  can  find  time,  on  such  a 
strenuous  pilgrimage,  to  listen  to  these  wayside 
songs. 

Take  the  character  sketch  of  Mr.  Fearing  :  — 

"  Now   as    they   walked   together,   the   guide 

asked  the  old  gentleman  if  he  did  not  know  one 

Mr.  Fearing  that  came  on  a  pilgrimage  out  of 

his  parts  ? 


82  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

"  Honest.  Yes,  very  well,  said  he.  He  was 
a  man  that  had  the  root  of  the  matter  in  him, 
but  he  was  one  of  the  most  troublesome  pilgrims 
that  ever  I  met  in  all  my  days. 

"  Great  Heart.  Why,  he  was  always  afraid 
he  should  come  short  of  whither  he  had  a  desire 
to  go.  Everything  frightened  him  that  he  heard 
anybody  speak  of  that  had  but  the  least  appear 
ance  of  opposition  in  it.  I  hear  that  he  lay  roar 
ing  in  the  Slough  of  Despond  for  about  a  month 
together.  .  .  .  Well,  after  he  had  lain  in  the 
Slough  of  Despond  a  great  while,  as  I  have  told 
you,  one  sunshine  morning,  I  do  not  know  how, 
he  ventured  and  so  got  over  ;  but  when  he  was 
over  he  would  scarce  believe  it.  He  had,  I  be 
lieve,  a  Slough  of  Despond  in  his  mind,  a  slough 
he  carried  everywhere  with  him.  .  .  .  When  he 
came  to  the  Hill  Difficulty  he  made  no  stick  at 
that ;  nor  did  he  much  fear  the  lions ;  for  you 
must  know  his  trouble  was  not  about  such  things 
as  those.  .  .  .  When  he  was  come  at  Vanity 
Fair,  I  thought  he  would  have  fought  with  all 
the  men  at  the  fair.  .  .  .  He  was  a  man  of 
choice  spirit  though  he  kept  himself  very  low." 
Poor  Mr.  Fearing.  We  all  have  been  made 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  83 

uncomfortable  by  him.  But  we  love  Bunyan 
for  that  touch  about  the  lions,  for  we  know  it 
is  true.  Easy  things  go  hard  with  Mr.  Fearing ; 
but  give  him  something  difficult,  like  going  up 
San  Juan  hill  in  the  face  of  a  withering  fire,  and 
Mr.  Fearing  can  keep  up  with  the  best  Rough 
Rider  of  them  all.  It  takes  Mr.  Great  Heart  to 
do  justice  to  Mr.  Fearing. 

It  is  the  mission  of  a  kindly  humor  to  take  a 
person  full  of  foibles  and  weaknesses  and  sud 
denly  to  reveal  his  unsuspected  nobleness.  And 
there  is  considerable  room  for  this  kind  of  treat 
ment;  for  there  are  a  great  many  lovable  peo 
ple  whose  virtues  are  not  chronic,  but  sporadic. 
These  virtues  grow  up,  one  knows  not  how, 
without  visible  means  of  support  in  the  general 
character,  and  in  defiance  of  moral  science ;  and 
yet  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  see  them. 

There  are  two  very  different  kinds  of  humor. 
One  we  naturally  describe  as  a  flavor,  the  other 
as  an  atmosphere.  We  speak  of  the  flavor  of 
the  essays  of  Charles  Lamb.  It  is  a  discovery 
we  make  very  much  as  Bobo  made  the  discovery 
of  roast  pig.  The  mind  of  Charles  Lamb  was 
like  a  capacious  kettle  hanging  from  the  crane  in 


84  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

the  fireplace ;  all  sorts  of  savory  ingredients  were 
thrown  into  it,  and  the  whole  was  kept  gently 
simmering,  but  never  allowed  to  come  to  the 
boil. 

Lamb  says,  "  C.  declares  that  a  man  cannot 
have  a  good  conscience  who  refuses  apple  dump 
ling,  and  I  confess  that  I  am  of  the  same 
opinion."  I  am  inclined  to  pass  that  kind  of 
judgment  on  the  person  who  does  not  have  a 
comfortable  feeling  of  satisfaction  in  reading  for 
the  twentieth  time  The  Complaint  on  the  Decay 
of  Beggars,  and  the  Praise  of  Chimney  Sweepers. 

Charles  Lamb  is  not  jocose.  He  likes  to 
theorize.  Now,  your  prosaic  theorist  has  a  very 
laborious  task.  He  tries  to  get  all  the  facts 
under  one  formula.  This  is  very  ticklish  busi 
ness.  It  is  like  the  game  of  Pigs  in  Clover.  He 
gets  all  the  facts  but  one  into  the  inner  circle. 
By  a  dexterous  thrust  he  gets  that  one  in,  and 
the  rest  are  out. 

Lamb  is  a  philosopher  who  does  not  have  this 
trouble.  He  does  not  try  to  fit  all  the  facts  to 
one  theory.  That  seems  to  him  too  economical, 
when  theories  are  so  cheap.  With  large-hearted 
generosity  he  provides  a  theory  for  every  fact. 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  85 

He  clothes  the  ragged  exception  with  all  the 
decent  habiliments  of  a  universal  law.  He 
picks  up  a  little  ragamuffin  of  a  fact,  and 
warms  its  heart  and  points  out  its  great  rela 
tions.  He  is  not  afraid  of  generalizing  from 
insufficient  data;  he  has  the  art  of  making  a 
delightful  summer  out  of  a  single  swallow. 
When  we  turn  to  the  essay  on  the  Melancholy 
of  Tailors,  we  do  not  think  of  asking  for  statis 
tics.  If  one  tailor  was  melancholy,  that  was 
enough  to  justify  the  generalization.  When 
we  find  a  tailor  who  is  not  melancholy,  it  will 
be  time  to  make  another  theory  to  fit  his  case. 

This  is  the  charm  of  Lamb's  letter  to  the  gen 
tleman  who  inquired  "  whether  a  person  at  the 
age  of  sixty-three,  with  no  more  proficiency  than 
a  tolerable  knowledge  of  most  of  the  characters 
of  the  English  alphabet  amounts  to,  by  dint  of 
persevering  application  and  good  masters,  may 
hope  to  arrive  within  a  presumable  number  of 
years  at  that  degree  of  attainment  that  would 
entitle  the  possessor  to  the  character  of  a  learned 
man''  The  answer  is  candid,  serious,  and  ex 
haustive.  No  false  hopes  are  encouraged.  The 
difficulties  are  plainly  set  forth.  "  However,"  it 


86  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

is  said,  "  where  all  cannot  be  compassed,  much 
may  be  accomplished ;  but  I  must  not,  in  fair 
ness,  conceal  from  you  that  you  have  much  to 
do."  The  question  is  thoroughly  discussed  as 
to  whether  it  would  be  well  for  him  to  enter  a 
primary  school.  "  You  say  that  you  stand  in 
need  of  emulation  ;  that  this  incitement  is  no 
where  to  be  had  but  in  the  public  school.  But 
have  you  considered  the  nature  of  the  emulation 
belonging  to  those  of  tender  years  which  you 
would  come  in  competition  with  ?  " 

Do  you  think  these  dissertations  a  waste  of 
time?  If  you  do,  it  is  sufficient  evidence  that 
you  sadly  need  them  ;  for  they  are  the  antitoxin 
to  counteract  the  bacillus  of  pedantry.  Were  I 
appointed  by  the  school  board  to  consider  the 
applicants  for  teachers'  certificates,  after  they 
had  passed  the  examination  in  the  arts  and 
sciences,  I  should  subject  them  to  a  more  rigid 
test.  I  should  hand  each  candidate  Lamb's 
essays  on  The  Old  and  New  Schoolmaster  and 
on  Imperfect  Sympathies.  I  should  make  him 
read  them  to  himself,  while  I  sat  by  and 
watched.  If  his  countenance  never  relaxed,  as 
if  he  were  inwardly  saying,  "  That  's  so,"  I  should 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  87 

withhold  the  certificate.  I  should  not  consider 
him  a  fit  person  to  have  charge  of  innocent  youth. 
Just  as  we  naturally  speak  of  the  flavor  of 
Charles  Lamb,  so  we  speak  of  the  atmosphere 
of  Cervantes  or  of  Fielding.  We  are  out  of 
doors  in  the  sunshine.  All  sorts  of  people  are 
doing  all  sorts  of  things  in  all  sorts  of  ways ; 
and  we  are  glad  that  we  are  there  to  see  them. 
It  is  one  of  the 

"  charmed  days 

When  the  Genius  of  God  doth  flow ; 
The  wind  may  alter  twenty  ways 
But  a  tempest  cannot  blow." 

On  such  days  it  does  n't  matter  what  happens. 
We  are  not  "  under  the  weather,"  but  con 
sciously  superior  to  it.  We  are  in  no  mood  to 
grumble  over  mishaps,  —  the  more  the  merrier. 
The  master  of  the  revels  has  made  the  brave  an 
nouncement  that  his  programme  shall  be  carried 
out  "  rain  or  shine,"  and  henceforth  we  have  no 
anxieties. 

This  diffused  good-humor  can  only  come  from 
a  mind  which  is  free^  from  any  taint  of  morbid 
ness.^  It  i^tha^merry-heartednesstliat  .'idoth 
good  like  medicine/'  It  is  an  overflowing  friend- 


88  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

JniesSj^jvhid^^ 
scorn. 

This  kind  of  humor  is  possible  only  among 
persons  who  are  thoroughly  congenial,  and  who 
take  mutual  good-will  for  granted.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  it  is  so  difficult  to  translate  it  or  to 
carry  it  from  one  community  to  another.  It  is 
customary  for  every  nation  to  bring  the  accusa 
tion  against  foreigners  that  they  are  destitute  of 
the  sense  of  humor.  Even  peoples  so  near  akin 
as  the  English  and  Americans  cherish  such  sus 
picions.  The  American  is  likely  to  feel  that  his 
English  friends  do  not  receive  his  pleasantries 
with  that  punctuality  which  is  the  politeness  of 
kings.  They  are  conscientious  enough  and  event 
ually  do  the  right  thing  ;  but  procrastination  is 
the  thief  of  wit  as  well  as  of  time.  But  we,  on 
our  side,  are  equally  slow,  and  Mr.  Punch  often 
causes  anxious  thoughts. 

The  real  difficulty  is  not  in  understanding 
what  is  said  but  in  appreciating  that  which 
should  be  taken  for  granted.  The  stranger  does 
not  see  the  serious  background  of  sober  thought 
and  genuine  admiration,  into  which  the  amus 
ing  figures  suddenly  intrude.  The  frontiersman 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  89 

would  see  no  point  in  a  story  that  might  delight 
a  common  room  in  Oxford.  What  if  a  bishop 
did  act  in  an  undignified  manner  or  commit  a 
blunder  ?  Why  should  n't  he  —  like  the  rest  of 
us?  To  enjoy  his  foibles  one  must  first  have  a 
realizing  sense  of  what  a  great  man  a  bishop  is, 
and  how  surprising  it  is  that,  now  and  then,  he 
should  step  down  from  his  pedestal. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  real  humor  of  the 
frontier  is  missed  by  one  who  has  not  learned  to 
take  seriously  the  frontiersman's  life  and  who 
has  not  entered  into  his  habitual  point  of  view. 

Dickens  is  an  example  of  the  way  in  which  a 
man's  humor  is  limited  to  the  sphere  of  his  sym 
pathies.  How  genial  is  the  atmosphere  which 
surrounds  Mr.  Pickwick  and  Mr.  Sam  Weller ! 
Whatever  they  do,  they  can  never  go  wrong. 
But  when  we  turn  to  the  "American  Notes  "  or  to 
the  American  part  of  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit,"  we 
are  conscious  of  a  difference.  There  is  no  atmos 
phere  to  relieve  the  dreariness.  Mr.  Jefferson 
Brick  is  not  amusing  ;  he  is  odious.  The  people 
on  the  Ohio  River  steamer  do  not  make  us  smile 
by  their  absurdities.  Dickens  lets  us  see  how  he 
despises  them  all.  He  is  fretful  and  peevish. 


90  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

He  fails  utterly  to  catch  the  humor  of  the 
frontier.  He  is  unable  to  follow  out  the  hint 
which  Mark  Tapley  gave  when,  looking  over  the 
dreary  waste  of  Eden  on  the  Mississippi,  he  said 
apologetically,  "  Eden  ain't  all  built  yet.'* 

To  an  Englishman  that  does  not  mean  much, 
but  to  an  American  it  is  wonderfully  appealing. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit  saw  only  the  ignominious 
contrast  between  the  prospectus  and  the  present 
reality.  Eden  was  a  vulgar  fraud,  and  that  was 
the  whole  of  it.  The  American,  with  invincible 
optimism,  looking  upon  the  same  scene,  sees 
something  more  !  He  smiles,  perhaps,  a  little 
cynically  at  the  incongruity  between  the  pro 
spectus  and  the  present  development,  and  then 
his  fancy  chuckles  at  what  his  fancy  sees  in  the 
future.  "Eden  ain't  all  built  yet,"  — that  's  a 
fact.  But  just  think  what  Eden  will  be  when  it 
is  all  built ! 

By  the  way,  there  is  one  particularly  good 
thing  about  the  atmosphere ;  it  prevents  our 
being  hit  by  meteors.  The  meteor,  when  it 
strikes  the  upper  air,  usually  ignites,  and  that 
is  the  end  of  it.  There  are  some  minds  that 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  91 

have  not  enough  atmosphere  to  protect  them. 
They  are  pelted  continually ;  whatever  is  un 
pleasant  comes  to  them  in  solid  chunks.  There 
are  others  more  fortunately  surrounded,  who 
escape  this  impact.  All  that  is  seen  is  a  flash 
in  the  upper  air.  They  are  none  the  worse  for 
passing  through  a  meteoric  shower  of  petty  mis 
fortunes. 

The  mind  that  is  surrounded  by  an  atmos 
phere  of  humorous  suggestiveness  is  also  favored 
in  its  outlook  upon  the  shortcomings  of  mankind. 
Their  angularities  are  softened  and  become  less 
uniformly  un  pleasing.  That  fine  old  English 
divine,  Dr.  South,  has  a  sermon  in  which  he 
defends  the  thesis  that  it  is  a  greater  guilt  to 
enjoy  the  contemplation  of  our  neighbor's  sins 
than  to  commit  the  same  offences  in  our  proper 
persons.  That  seems  to  me  to  be  very  hard 
doctrine.  I  am  inclined  to  make  a  distinction. 
There  are  some  faults  which  ought  to  be  taken 
seriously  at  all  times,  but  there  are  others  which 
the  neighbors  should  be  allowed  to  enjoy,  if  they 
can. 

Indeed,  it  is  the  genuine  reformer  who  is  seek 
ing  to  right  great  wrongs  who  most  needs  the 


92  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

capacity  to  distinguish  between  grave  evils  and 
peccadillos.  A  measure  of  good-humored  tol 
erance  for  human  weakness  is  a  part  of  his 
equipment  for  effective  work.  Lacking  in  this, 
he  is  doomed  to  perpetual  irritation  and  dis 
appointment.  He  mistakes  friends  for  foes  and 
wages  a  losing  battle.  He  is  likely  to  be  the  vic 
tim  of  a  moral  egoism  which  distorts  the  facts  of 
experience  and  confuses  his  personal  whims  with 
his  disinterested  purposes.  His  great  ideal  is 
lost  sight  of  in  some  petty  strife.  Above  all,  he 
loses  the  power  of  endurance  in  the  time  of  par 
tial  failure. 

The  contest  of  wits  between  the  inventors  of 
projectiles  and  the  makers  of  armor  plate  seemed 
at  one  time  settled  by  Harvey's  process  for  ren 
dering  the  surface  of  the  resisting  steel  so  hard 
that  the  missiles  hurled  against  it  were  shattered. 
The  answer  of  the  gun-makers  was  made  by  at 
taching  a  tip  of  softer  metal  to  the  shell.  The 
soft  tip  received  the  first  shock  of  the  impact, 
and  it  was  found  that  the  penetrating  power  of 
the  shell  was  increased  enormously.  The  scien 
tific  explanation  I  have  forgotten.  I  may,  how 
ever,  hazard  an  anthropomorphic  explanation. 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  93 

If  there  is  any  human  nature  in  the  atoms  of 
steel,  I  can  see  a  great  advantage  in  having  the 
softer  particles  go  before  the  hard,  to  have  a 
momentary  yielding  before  the  inevitable  crash. 
When  they  are  hurtling  through  the  air,  tense 
and  strained  by  the  initial  velocity  till  it  seems 
that  they  must  fly  apart,  it  is  a  great  thing  to 
have  a  group  of  good-humored,  happy-go-lucky 
atoms  in  the  front,  who  call  out  cheerily :  "  Come 
along,  boys  !  Don't  take  it  too  hard ;  we  're  in 
for  it."  And  sure  enough,  before  they  have 
time  to  fall  apart  they  are  in.  Those  whose 
thoughts  and  purposes  have  most  penetrated  the 
hard  prejudices  of  their  time  have  learned  this 
lesson. 

Your  unhumorous  reformer,   with  painful  in 
tensity  of  moral  self -consciousness,  cries  out :  — 

"  The  time  is  out  of  joint :   0  cursed  spite, 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right !  " 

He  takes  himself  and  his  cause  always  with  equal 
seriousness.  He  hurls  himself  against  the  ac 
cumulated  wrongs  and  the  invincible  ignorance 
of  the  world,  and  there  is  a  great  crash ;  but 
somehow,  the  world  seems  to  survive  the  shock 
better  than  he  does.  It  is  a  tough  old  world, 


94  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

and  bears  a  great  deal  of  pounding.  Indeed,  it 
has  been  pounded  so  much  and  so  long  that  it 
has  become  quite  solid. 

Now  and  then,  however,  there  comes  along  a 
reformer  whose  zeal  is  tipped  with  humor.  His 
thought  penetrates  where  another  man's  is  only 
shattered.  That  is  what  made  Luther  so  effec 
tive.  He  struck  heavy  blows  at  the  idols  men 
adored.  But  he  was  such  a  genial,  whole-souled 
iconoclast  that  those  who  were  most  shocked  at 
him  could  not  help  liking  him  —  between  times. 
He  would  give  a  smashing  blow  at  the  idol,  and 
then  a  warm  hand  grasp  and  a  hearty  "  God 
bless  you "  to  the  idolater  ;  and  then  idolater 
and  iconoclast  would  be  down  on  the  floor  to 
gether,  trying  to  see  if  there  were  any  pieces  of 
the  idol  worth  saving.  It  was  all  so  unexpected 
and  so  incongruous  and  so  shocking,  and  yet  so 
unaffectedly  religious  and  so  surprisingly  the 
right  thing  to  do,  that  the  upshot  of  it  all  was 
that  people  went  away  saying,  "  Dr.  Martin  is  n't 
such  a  bad  fellow,  after  all." 

Luther's  "Table  Talk"  penetrated  circles  which 
were  well  protected  against  his  theological  trea 
tises.  Men  were  conscious  of  a  good  humor  even 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  95 

in  his  invective  ;  for  he  usually  gave  them  time 
to  see  the  kindly  twinkle  in  his  eye  before  he 
knocked  them  down. 

In  order  to  engage  Karlstadt  in  a  controversy, 
Luther  drew  out  a  florin  from  his  pocket  and 
cried  heartily,  "  Take  it !  Attack  me  boldly  !  " 
Karlstadt  took  it,  put  it  in  his  purse,  and  gave 
it  to  Luther.  Luther  then  drank  to  his  health. 
Then  Karlstadt  pledged  Luther.  Then  Luther 
said,  "  The  more  violent  your  attacks,  the  more 
I  shall  be  delighted."  Then  they  gave  each 
other  their  hands  and  parted.  One  can  almost 
be  reconciled  to  theological  controversy,  when  it 
is  conducted  in  a  manner  so  truly  sportsmanlike. 

Luther  had  a  way  of  characterizing  a  person 
in  a  sentence,  that  was  much  more  effective  than 
his  labored  vituperation  (in  which,  it  must  be 
confessed,  he  was  a  master).  Thus,  speaking  of 
the  attitude  of  Erasmus,  he  said,  "  Erasmus 
stands  looking  at  creation  like  a  calf  at  a  new 
door."  It  was  very  unjust  to  Erasmus,  and  yet 
the  picture  sticks  in  the  mind ;  for  it  is  such  a 
perfect  characterization  of  the  kind  of  mind  that 
we  are  all  acquainted  with,  which  looks  at  the 
marvels  of  creation  with  the  wide-eyed  gaze  of 


96  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

bovine  youthfulness,  curious,  not  to  know  how 
that  door  came  there,  but  only  to  know  whether 
it  leads  to  something  to  eat. 

The  humor  of  Luther  suggests  that  of  Abra 
ham  Lincoln.  Both  were  men  of  the  people,  and 
their  humor  had  a  flavor  of  the  soil.  They  were 
alike  capable  of  deep  dejection,  but  each  found 
relief  in  spontaneous  laughter.  The  surprise  of 
the  grave  statesman  when  Lincoln  would  preface 
a  discussion  with  a  homely  anecdote  of  the  fron 
tier  was  of  the  same  kind  felt  by  the  sixteenth- 
century  theologians  when  Luther  turned  aside 
from  his  great  arguments,  which  startled  Europe, 
to  tell  a  merry  tale  in  ridicule  of  the  pretensions 
of  the  monks. 

of  th 


nf    tlin    frvmrnqt    r>f 


Would  at  Once  protest.       Hlirnm^  fhgy 

place  in 


right.      Indeed,  ^  js  doiiVitfnl  if  a 

ever  make  a  goodt  systematic  philosopher.  He 
is  a-  mn^Agf.  ppr>sorii  TT^  ]>  r>n]y  a  gleaner  fol- 
lowing^the^eapers  ;  but  he  manages  to  pick  jip 
a  great  many  PT  a,i  n  s  rtf  .-wiftdAm-jwh  i  nh  th  p.y 
look. 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  97 

Dante  pictures  the  sages  of  antiquity  as  for 
ever  walking  on  a  verdant  mead,  "with  eyes 
slow  and  grave,  and  with  great  authority  in  their 
looks ; "  as  if,  in  the  other  world,  they  were  con 
tinually  oppressed  by  the  wisdom  they  had  ac 
quired  in  this.  But  I  can  imagine  a  gathering 
of  philosophers  in  a  different  fashion.  Gravely 
they  have  come,  each  bearing  his  ponderous  vol 
ume,  in  which  he  has  explained  the  universe  and 
settled  the  destiny  of  mankind.  Then,  suddenly, 
in  contrast  with  their  theories,  the  reality  is  dis 
closed.  The  incorrigible  pedants  and  dogmatists 
turn  away  in  sullen  disappointment ;  but  from 
all  true  lovers  of  wisdom  there  arises  a  peal  of 
mellow  laughter,  as  each  one  realizes  the  enor 
mous  incongruity  between  what  he  knew  and 
what  he  thought  he  knew. 

The  discovery  that  things  are  not  always  as 
they  seem  is  one  that  some  people  make  in  this 
world.  They  get  a  glimpse  of  something  that  is 
going  on  behind  the  scenes,  and  their  smile  is 
very  disconcerting  to  the  sober  spectators  around 
them. 

Sometimes  it  is  the  bitter  smile  of  disillusion. 
Matthew  Arnold  wrote  of  Heine  :  — 


98  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

"  The  Spirit  of  the  world, 
Beholding  the  absurdity  of  men,  — 
Their  vaunts,  their  feats,  —  let  a  sardonic  smile, 
For  one  short  moment,  wander  o'er  his  lips. 
That  smile  was  Heine." 

But  there  is  another  kind  of  smile  evoked  by 
the  incongruity  between  the  appearance  and  the 
reality.  It  is  the  smile  that  comes  when  behind 
some  mask  that  had  affrighted  us  we  recognize 
a  familiar  and  friendly  face.  There  is  a  smile 
which  is  not  one  of  disillusion.  There  is  a  philo 
sophy  which  is  dissolved  in  humor.  The  wise  man 
sees  the  incongruities  involved  in  the  very  nature 
of  things.  They  are  the  result  of  the  free  play  of 
various  forces.  To  his  quick  insight  the  actual 
world  is  no  more  like  the  formal  descriptions  of 
it  than  the  successive  attitudes  of  a  galloping 
horse  are  like  the  pose  of  an  equestrian  statue. 
His  mind  catches  instantaneous  views  of  this  world 
as  its  elements  are  continually  dissolving  and  re- 
combining.  It  is  all  very  surprising,  and  he 
smiles  as  he  sees  how  much  better  they  turn  out 
than  might  be  expected. 

"  Sad-eyed  Fakirs  swiftly  say 
Endless  dirges  to  decay. 


THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR  99 

And  yet  it  seemeth  not  to  me 
That  the  high  gods  love  tragedy  ; 
For  Saadi  sat  in  the  sun. 

Sunshine  in  his  heart  transferred, 
Lighted  each  transparent  word. 


And  thus  to  Saadi  said  the  Muse  : 
4  Eat  thou  the  bread  which  men  refuse ; 
Flee  from  the  goods  which  from  thee  flee  j 
Seek  nothing,  —  Fortune  seeketh  thee. 

On  thine  orchard's  edge  belong 
All  the  brags  of  plume  and  song. 

Nor  scour  the  seas,  nor  sift  mankind, 
A  poet  or  a  friend  to  find  : 
Behold,  he  watches  at  the  door  ! 
Behold  his  shadow  on  the  floor  ! ' ' 

In  the  book  of  Proverbs,  Wisdom  says,  "  I, 
Wisdom,  dwell  with  Prudence."  But  there  is 
another  member  of  the  household.  It  is  Humor, 
sister  of  serene  Wisdom  and  of  the  heavenly 
Prudence.  She  does  not  often  laugh,  and  when 
she  does  it  is  mostly  at  her  sister  Wisdom,  who 
cannot  long  resist  the  infection.  There  is  not 
one  set  smile  upon  her  face,  as  if  she  contemplated 
an  altogether  amusing  world.  The  smiles  that 


100  THE  MISSION  OF  HUMOR 

come  and  go  are  shy,  elusive  things,  but  they  can 
not  remain  long  in  hiding. 

Wisdom,  from  her  high  house,  takes  wide 
views,  and  Prudence  peers  anxiously  into  the 
future ;  but  gentle  Humor  loves  to  take  short 
views ;  she  delights  in  homely  things,  and  con 
tinually  finds  surprises  in  that  which  is  most 
familiar.  Wisdom  goes  on  laborious  journeys, 
and  comes  home  bringing  her  treasures  from  afar  ; 
and  Humor  matches  them,  every  one,  with  what 
sue  has  found  in  the  dooryard. 


55THAT  was  a  curious  state  of  things  in  Salem 
^K  village.  There  was  the  Meeting-House  in 
plain  sight,  with  sermons  every  Sunday  and  lec 
tures  on  week-days.  There  were  gospel  privi 
leges  for  all,  and  the  path  of  duty  was  evident 
enough  for  the  simplest  understanding.  Never 
theless,  certain  persons  who  should  have  listened 
to  the  sermons,  when  they  heard  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet  hied  to  the  rendezvous  of  witches.  When 
haled  before  the  court  their  only  answer  was  that 
they  could  n't  help  it. 

The  ministers  were  disturbed,  but  being 
thorough-going  men,  they  did  not  rest  content 
with  academic  discussion  of  the  question  of  the 
falling-of?  in  church  attendance.  They  inquired 


-102      CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

into  its  'cause,  and  became  convinced  that  they 
were  dealing  with  sorcery.  All  this  is  duly  set 
down  in  Increase  Mather's  treatise  on  "  Cases  of 
Conscience  concerning  Witchcrafts." 

This  method  of  inquisition  is  commended  to 
those  writers  who  look  upon  the  Gentle  Reader's 
love  of  Romance  as  a  deadly  sin.  The  trouble, 
as  I  understand  it,  is  this.  A  number  of  gentle 
men  devoted  to  literature  have  cultivated  style 
till  it  is  as  near  a  state  of  utter  perfection  as 
human  nature  will  tolerate.  Indeed,  they  emu 
late  that  classic  writer  of  whom  Roger  Ascham 
remarked  that  he  labored  "  with  uncontented 
care  to  write  better  than  he  could."  They  have 
attained  such  accuracy  of  observation  and  such 
skill  in  the  choice  of  words  that  the  man  in  the 
book  is  as  like  to  the  man  on  the  street  as  two  peas. 
They  are  also  skilled  in  criticism  and  are  able  to 
prove  that  it  is  our  duty  not  only  to  admire  but 
also  to  read  their  books.  The  complaint  is  that 
the  readers,  instead  of  walking  in  the  path  of 
duty,  troop  off  after  some  mere  story-teller  who 
has  never  passed  an  examination  in  Pathology, 
and  who  is  utterly  incapable  of  making  an  ex 
haustive  analysis  of  motives. 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS      103 

The  Gentle  Reader  when  he  hears  the  accusa 
tions  of  the  stern  realists  makes  no  denial  of  the 
facts.  He  admits  that  he  likes  a  good  story 
better  than  an  involved  study  of  character.  He 
listens  to  the  reproofs  with  the  helplessness  of 
one  who  has  only  the  frail  barrier  of  a  personal 
taste  to  shield  him  from  the  direct  blow  of  the 
categorical  imperative.  If  personal  taste  were 
to  be  accepted  as  a  sufficient  plea,  he  is  aware 
that  the  most  besotted  inebriate  would  go  un- 
whipped  of  justice.  In  this  predicament  he 
shields  himself  behind  his  favorite  authors.  If 
there  be  a  fault  it  is  theirs,  not  his.  They  have 
bewitched  him  by  their  spells.  It  is  impossible 
for  him  to  withstand  the  potent  enchantments  of 
these  wizards. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  there  is  much 
justice  in  this  view  of  the  matter  and  that  the 
militant  realists  should  turn  their  attention  from 
the  innocent  reader  to  those  who  have  power  to 
bewitch  him. 

The  accepted  signs  of  witchcraft,  as  enumer 
ated  by  the  Mathers,  are  present.  Thus  we 
are  told :  "  A  famous  Divine  recites  among 
other  Convictions  of  a  Witch,  the  Testimony  of 


104     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

the  Party  bewitched,  together  with  the  joint 
Oaths  of  sufficient  Persons  that  they  have  seen 
Prodigious  Pranks  or  Feats  wrought  by  the 
Party  accused." 

This  was  the  kind  of  evidence  relied  upon  in 
the  case  of  G.  B.  in  the  Court  of  Oyer  and  Ter- 
miner  held  at  Salem  in  1692.  "  He  was  accused  by 
Nine  Persons  for  extraordinary  Lifting  and  such 
Feats  of  Strength  as  could  not  be  done  without 
Diabolical  Assistance."  It  was  said  that  "though 
he  was  a  Puny  Man  yet  he  had  done  things  be 
yond  the  strength  of  a  Giant.  A  Gun  of  about 
seven  foot  Barrel,  and  so  heavy  that  strong  Men 
could  not  steadily  hold  it  out  with  both  hands  ; 
there  were  several  Testimonies  that  he  made  no 
thing  of  taking  up  such  a  Gun  behind  the  Lock, 
with  one  hand,  and  holding  it  out  like  a  Pistol 
at  arm's  end."  Any  readers  of  romance  can  tell 
of  many  such  prodigious  pranks  which,  while  the 
spell  was  upon  them,  seemed  altogether  credible. 

The  test  which  was  looked  upon  as  infallible 
by  those  judicious  judges  who  put  little  con 
fidence  in  the  flotation  of  witches  on  the  mill 
pond,  was  that  of  the  lack  of  intellectual  con 
sistency.  "  Faltering,  faulty,  inconstant,  and 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     105 

contrary  answers  upon  judicial  and  deliberate 
Examination  are  accounted  unlucky  symptoms 
of  guilt." 

Such  inconsistencies  may  be  found  in  all  ro 
mantic  fiction ;  yet  the  magicians  seem  to  have 
the  power  to  make  all  things  appear  probable.  I 
might  tell  what  a  pleasant  thrill  is  sometimes 
produced  by  these  sorceries,  but  I  had  better  fol 
low  the  policy  of  Cotton  Mather,  who  declined  to 
tell  all  he  knew  about  the  Invisible  World,  lest 
he  might  make  witchcraft  too  attractive.  "  I 
will  not  speak  plainly  lest  I  should,  unaware, 
poison  some  of  my  Readers,  as  the  pious  Her- 
mingius  did  one  of  his  Pupils  when  he  only  by 
way  of  Diversion  recited  a  Spell." 

Cotton  Mather  makes  a  suggestion  which  is  of 
value  in  regard  to  the  different  grades  of  witches 
and  other  wonder-working  spirits.  His  remarks 
upon  this  head  are  so  judicious  that  they  should 
be  quoted  in  full. 

"  Thirdly,  't  is  to  be  supposed,  that  some 
Devils  are  more  peculiarly  Commissioned,  and 
perhaps  Qualify  d,  for  some  Countries,  while 
others  are  for  others.  This  is  intimated  when 
in  Mar.  5.  10.  The  Devils  besought  our  Lord 


106     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

much,  that  he  would  not  send  them  away  out  of 
the  Countrey.  Why  was  that  ?  But  in  all  prob 
ability,  because  these  Devils  were  more  able  to 
do  the  works  of  the  Demi,  in  such  a  Countrey, 
than  in  another.  It  is  not  likely  that  every 
Devil  does  know  every  Language  ;  or  that  every 
Devil  can  do  every  Mischief.  'T  is  possible, 
that  the  Experience,  or,  if  I  may  call  it  so,  the 
Education  of  all  Devils  is  not  alike,  and  that 
there  may  be  some  difference  in  their  Abilities. 
If  one  might  make  an  Inference  from  what 
the  Devils  do,  to  what  they  are,  One  cannot  for 
bear  dreaming,  that  there  are  degrees  of  Devils. 
Who  can  allow,  that  such  Trifling  Demons,  as 
that  of  Mascon,  or  those  that  once  infested  our 
New-berry,  are  of  so  much  Grandeur,  as  those 
Demons,  whose  Games  are  mighty  Kingdoms  ? 
Yea,  't  is  certain,  that  all  Devils  do  not  make  a 
like  figure  in  the  Invisible  World.  Nor  does  it 
look  agreeably,  That  the  Demons,  which  were 
Familiars  of  such  a  Man  as  the  old  Apollonius, 
differ  not  from  those  baser  Goblins  that  chuse 
to  Nest  in  the  filthy  and  loathsome  Kags  of  a 
beastly  Sorceress.  Accordingly,  why  may  not 
some  Devils  be  more  accomplished  for  what  is 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     107 

to  be  done  in  such  and  such  places,  when  others 
must  be  detacJid  for  other  Territories?  Each 
Devil,  as  he  sees  his  advantage,  cries  out,  Let  me 
be  in  this  Countrey,  rather  than  another.''' 

It  is  only  on  the  theory  of  bewitchment  by  a 
trifling  demon  who  belongs  to  the  lower  orders  of 
the  literary  world  that  I  can  account  for  the  sad 
fall  of  the  reader  whose  confession  follows.  Care 
fully  shielded  in  his  youth  from  all  the  entice 
ments  of  the  imagination,  he  yet  fell  from  grace. 
The  unfortunate  person  seems  to  be  lacking  in 
strength  of  will,  and  yet  to  have  some  good  in 
him.  In  my  opinion  he  was  more  sinned  against 
than  sinning.  But  I  will  let  him  tell  his  story 
in  his  own  way. 

A  CONFESSION 

One  half  the  world  does  not  know  what  the 
other  half  reads  ;  but  good  people  are  now 
taught  that  the  first  requisite  of  sociological 
virtue  is  to  interest  themselves  in  the  other  half. 
I  therefore  venture  to  call  attention  to  a  book 
that  has  pleased  me,  though  my  delight  in  it  may 
at  once  class  me  with  the  "  submerged  tenth  "  of 
the  reading  public.  It  is  "  The  Pirate's  Own 
Book." 


108     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

By  way  of  preface  to  a  discussion  of  this 
volume,  let  me  make  a  personal  explanation  of 
the  causes  which  led  me  to  its  perusal.  My  read 
ing  of  such  a  book  cannot  be  traced  to  early 
habit.  In  my  boyhood  I  had  no  opportunity 
to  study  the  careers  of  pirates,  for  I  was  confined 
to  another  variety  of  literature.  On  Sunday 
afternoons  I  read  aloud  a  book  called  "  The  Af 
flicted  Man's  Companion."  The  unfortunate  gen 
tleman  portrayed  in  this  work  had  a  large  assort 
ment  of  afflictions,  —  if  I  remember  rightly,  one 
for  each  day  of  the  month,  —  but  among  them 
was  nothing  so  exciting  as  being  marooned  in 
the  South  Seas.  Indeed,  his  afflictions  were  of 
a  generalized  and  abstract  kind,  which  he  could 
have  borne  with  great  cheerfulness  had  it  not 
been  for  the  consolations  which  were  remorse 
lessly  administered  to  him. 

If  I  have  become  addicted  to  tales  of  piracy,  I 
must  attribute  it  to  the  literary  criticisms  of  too 
strenuous  realists.  Before  I  read  them,  I  took 
an  innocent  pleasure  in  romantic  fiction.  With 
out  any  compunction  of  conscience  I  rejoiced  in 
Walter  Scott ;  and  when  he  failed  I  was  pleased 
even  with  his  imitators.  My  heart  leaped  up 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     109 

when  I  beheld  a  solitary  horseman  on  the  first 
page,  and  I  did  not  forsake  the  horseman,  even 
though  I  knew  he  was  to  be  personally  conducted 
through  his  journey  by  Mr.  G.  P.  R.  James. 
Fenimore  Cooper,  in  those  days,  before  I  was 
awakened  to  the  nature  of  literary  sin,  I  found 
altogether  pleasant.  The  cares  of  the  world  faded 
away,  and  a  soothing  conviction  of  the  essential 
Tightness  of  things  came  over  me,  as  the  pioneers 
and  Indians  discussed  in  deliberate  fashion  the 
deepest  questions  of  the  universe,  between  shots. 
As  for  stories  of  the  sea,  I  never  thought  of  being 
critical.  I  was  ready  to  take  thankfully  any 
thing  with  a  salty  flavor,  from  "  Sindbad  the 
Sailor  "  to  Mr.  Clark  Russell.  I  had  no  incon 
venient  knowledge  to  interfere  with  my  enjoy 
ment.  All  nautical  language  was  alike  impres 
sive,  and  all  nautical  manoauvres  were  to  me 
alike  perilous.  It  would  have  been  a  poor  An 
cient  Mariner  who  could  not  have  enthralled  me, 
when 

"  He  held  me  with  his  skinny  hand ; 
'  There  was  a  ship,'  quoth  he." 

And  if  the  ship  had  raking  masts  and  no  satis 
factory  clearance  papers,  that  was  enough ;  as  to 


110    CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

what  should  happen,  I  left  that  altogether  to  the 
author.  That  the  laws  of  probability  held  on 
the  Spanish  Main  as  on  dry  land,  I  never 
dreamed. 

But  after  being  awakened  to  the  sin  of  ro 
mance,  I  saw  that  to  read  a  novel  merely  for 
recreation  is  not  permissible.  The  reader  must 
be  put  upon  oath,  and  before  he  allows  himself 
to  enjoy  any  incident  must  swear  that  everything 
is  exactly  true  to  life  as  he  has  seen  it.  All 
vagabonds  and  sturdy  vagrants  who  have  no 
visible  means  of  support,  in  the  present  order  of 
things,  are  to  be  driven  out  of  the  realm  of  well- 
regulated  fiction.  Among  these  are  included  all 
knights  in  armor  ;  all  rightful  heirs  with  a  straw 
berry  mark  ;  all  horsemen,  solitary  or  otherwise  ; 
all  princes  in  disguise  ;  all  persons  who  are  in 
the  habit  of  saying  "  prithee,"  or  "  Odzooks,"  or 
"  by  my  halidome  ;  "  all  fair  ladies  who  have  no 
irregularities  of  feature  and  no  realistic  inco- 
herencies  of  speech ;  all  lovers  who  fall  in  love 
at  first  sight,  and  who  are  married  at  the  end  of 
the  book  and  live  happily  ever  after  ;  all  witches, 
fortune-tellers,  and  gypsies ;  all  spotless  heroes 
and  deep-dyed  villains ;  all  pirates,  buccaneers, 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     111 

North  American  Indians  with  a  taste  for  meta 
physics  ;  all  scouts,  hunters,  trappers,  and  other 
individuals  who  do  not  wear  store  clothes.  Ac 
cording  to  this  decree,  all  readers  are  forbidden 
to  aid  and  abet  these  persons,  or  to  give  them 
shelter  in  their  imagination.  A  reader  who 
should  incite  a  writer  of  fiction  to  romance 
would  be  held  as  an  accessory  before  the  fact. 

After  duly  repenting  of  my  sins  and  renouncing 
my  old  acquaintances,  I  felt  a  preeminent  virtue. 
Had  I  met  the  Three  Guardsmen,  one  at  a  time 
or  all  together,  I  should  have  passed  them  by 
without  stopping  for  a  moment's  converse.  I 
should  have  recognized  them  for  the  impudent 
Gascons  that  they  were,  and  should  have  known 
that  there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  all  their 
adventures.  As  for  Stevenson's  fine  old  pirate, 
with  his  contemptible  song  about  a  "  dead  men's 
chest  and  a  bottle  of  rum,"  I  should  not  have 
tolerated  him  for  an  instant.  Instead,  I  should 
have  turned  eagerly  to  some  neutral-tinted  person 
who  never  had  any  adventure  greater  than  missing 
the  train  to  Dedham,  and  I  should  have  analyzed 
his  character,  and  agitated  myself  in  the  attempt 
to  get  at  his  feelings,  and  I  should  have  verified 


112     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

his  story  by  a  careful  reference  to  the  railway 
guide.  I  should  have  treated  that  neutral-tinted 
character  as  a  problem,  and  I  should  have  noted 
all  the  delicate  shades  in  the  futility  of  his  con 
duct.  When,  on  any  occasion  that  called  for 
action,  he  did  not  know  his  own  mind,  I  should 
have  admired  him  for  his  resemblance  to  so  many 
of  my  acquaintances  who  do  not  know  their  own 
minds.  After  studying  the  problem  until  I  came 
to  the  last  chapter,  I  should  suddenly  have  given 
it  up,  and  agreed  with  the  writer  that  it  had  no 
solution.  In  my  self-righteousness,  I  despised 
the  old-fashioned  reader  who  had  been  lured  on 
in  the  expectation  that  at  the  last  moment  some 
thing  thrilling  might  happen. 

But  temptations  come  at  the  unguarded  point. 
I  had  hardened  myself  against  romance  in  fiction, 
but  I  had  not  been  sufficiently  warned  against 
romance  in  the  guise  of  fact.  When  in  a  book 
stall  I  came  upon  "  The  Pirate's  Own  Book,"  it 
seemed  to  answer  a  felt  want.  Here  at  least, 
outside  the  boundaries  of  strict  fiction,  I  could  be 
sure  of  finding  adventure,  and  feel  again  with 
Sancho  Panza  "  how  pleasant  it  is  to  go  about  in 
expectation  of  accidents." 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     113 

I  am  well  aware  that  good  literature  —  to  use 
Matthew  Arnold's  phrase  — is  a  criticism  of  life. 
But  the  criticism  of  life,  with  its  discriminations 
between  things  which  look  very  much  alike,  is 
pretty  serious  business.  We  cannot  keep  on 
criticising  life  without  getting  tired  after  a  while, 
and  longing  for  something  a  little  simpler.  There 
is  a  much-admired  passage  in  Ferishtah's  Fancies, 
in  which,  after  mixing  up  the  beans  in  his  hands 
and  speculating  on  their  color,  Ferishtah  is  not 
able  to  tell  black  from  white.  Ferishtah,  living 
in  a  soothing  climate,  could  stand  an  indefinite 
amount  of  this  sort  of  thing ;  and,  moreover,  we 
must  remember  that  he  was  a  dervish,  and  der- 
vishry,  although  a  steady  occupation,  is  not  exact 
ing  in  its  requirements.  In  our  more  stimulating 
climate,  we  should  bring  on  nervous  prostration 
if  we  gave  ourselves  unremittingly  to  the  dis 
crimination  between  all  the  possible  variations  of 
blackishness  and  whitishness.  We  must  relieve 
our  minds  by  occasionally  finding  something  about 
which  there  can  be  no  doubt.  When  my  eyes 
rested  on  the  woodcut  that  adorns  the  first  page 
of  "  The  Pirate's  Own  Book,"  I  felt  the  rest  that 
comes  from  perfect  certainty  in  my  own  moral 


114    CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

judgment.  Ferishtah  himself  could  not  have 
mixed  me  up.  Here  was  black  without  a  redeem 
ing  spot.  On  looking  upon  this  pirate,  I  felt 
relieved  from  any  criticism  of  life ;  here  was 
something  beneath  criticism.  I  was  no  longer 
tossed  about  on  a  chop  sea,  with  its  conflicting 
waves  of  feeling  and  judgment,  but  was  borne 
along  triumphantly  on  a  bounding  billow  of  moral 
reprobation. 

As  I  looked  over  the  headings  of  the  chapters, 
I  was  struck  by  their  straightforward  and  undis 
guised  character.  When  I  read  the  chapter  en 
titled  The  Savage  Appearance  of  the  Pirates, 
and  compared  this  with  the  illustrations,  I  said, 
"  How  true  1  "  Then  there  was  a  chapter  on  the 
Deceitful  Character  of  the  Malays.  I  had  always 
suspected  that  the  Malays  were  deceitful,  and 
here  I  found  my  impressions  justified  by  compe 
tent  authority.  Then  I  dipped  into  the  preface, 
and  found  the  same  transparent  candor.  "  A 
piratical  crew,"  says  the  author,  "  is  generally 
formed  of  the  desperadoes  and  renegades  of 
every  clime  and  nation."  Again  I  said,  "  Just 
what  I  should  have  expected.  The  writer  is  evi 
dently  one  who  l  nothing  extenuates.'  r  Then 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     116 

follows  a  further  description  of  the  pirate  :  "  The 
pirate,  from  the  perilous  nature  of  his  occupation, 
when  not  cruising  on  the  ocean,  that  great  high 
way  of  nations,  selects  the  most  lonely  isles  of 
the  sea  for  his  retreat,  or  secretes  himself  near 
the  shores  of  bays  and  lagoons  of  thickly  wooded 
and  uninhabited  countries."  Just  the  places 
where  I  should  have  expected  him  to  settle. 

"  The  pirate,  when  not  engaged  in  robbing, 
passes  his  time  in  singing  old  songs  with  choruses 
like,  - 

'  Drain,  drain  the  bowl,  each  fearless  soul ! 

Let  the  world  wag  as  it  will ; 
Let  the  heavens  growl,  let  the  devil  howl, 
Drain,  drain  the  deep  bowl  and  fill !  ' 

Thus  his  hours  of  relaxation  are  passed  in  wild 
and  extravagant  frolics,  amongst  the  lofty  forests 
and  spicy  groves  of  the  torrid  zone,  and  amidst 
the  aromatic  and  beautiful  flowering  vegetable 
products  of  that  region." 

Again :  "  With  the  name  of  pirate  is  also  asso 
ciated  ideas  of  rich  plunder,  —  caskets  of  buried 
jewels,  chests  of  gold  ingots,  bags  of  outlandish 
coins,  secreted  in  lonely  out-of-the-way  places,  or 
buried  about  the  wild  shores  of  rivers  and  unex- 


116  CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 
plored  seacoasts,  near  rocks  and  trees  bearing 
mysterious  marks,  indicating  where  the  treasure 
is  hid."  "  As  it  is  his  invariable  practice  to 
secrete  and  bury  his  booty,  and  from  the  peril 
ous  life  he  lives  being  often  killed,  he  can  never 
revisit  the  spot  again,  immense  sums  remaining 
buried  in  these  places  are  irrevocably  lost."  Is 
it  any  wonder  that,  with  such  an  introduction,  I 
became  interested? 

After  a  perusal  of  the  book,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  a  pirate  may  be  a  better  person  to 
read  about  than  some  persons  who  stand  higher 
in  the  moral  scale.  Compare,  if  you  will,  a  pi 
rate  and  a  pessimist.  As  a  citizen  and  neighbor 
I  should  prefer  the  pessimist.  A  pessimist  is  an 
excellent  and  highly  educated  gentleman,  who 
has  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  born  into  a 
world  which  is  inadequate  to  his  expectations. 
Naturally  he  feels  that  he  has  a  grievance,  and 
in  airing  his  grievance  he  makes  himself  unpopu 
lar  ;  but  it  is  certainly  not  his  fault  that  the  uni 
verse  is  no  better  than  it  is.  On  the  other  hand, 
a  pirate  is  a  bad  character  ;  yet  as  a  subject  of 
biography  he  is  more  inspiring  than  the  pessi 
mist.  In  one  case,  we  have  the  impression  of  one 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     117 

good  man  in  a  totally  depraved  world  ;  in  the 
other  case,  we  have  a  totally  depraved  man  in 
what  but  for  him  would  be  a  very  good  world. 
I  know  of  nothing  that  gives  one  a  more  genial 
appreciation  of  average  human  nature,  or  a 
greater  tolerance  for  the  foibles  of  one's  ac 
quaintances,  than  the  contrast  with  an  unmiti 
gated  pirate. 

My  copy  of  "  The  Pirate's  Own  Book  "  belongs 
to  the  edition  of  1837.  On  the  fly-leaf  it  bore  in 
prim  handwriting  the  name  of  a  lady  who  for 
many  years  must  have  treasured  it.  I  like  to 
think  of  this  unknown  lady  in  connection  with 
the  book.  I  know  that  she  must  have  been  an 
excellent  soul,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  her  New 
England  conscience  pointed  to  the  moral  law  as 
the  needle  to  the  pole ;  but  she  was  a  wise  woman, 
and  knew  that  if  she  was  to  keep  her  conscience 
in  good  repair  she  must  give  it  some  reasonable 
relaxation.  I  am  sure  that  she  was  a  woman  of 
versatile  philanthropy,  and  that  every  moment 
she  had  the  ability  to  make  two  duties  grow 
where  only  one  had  grown  before.  After,  how 
ever,  attending  the  requisite  number  of  lectures 
to  improve  her  mind,  and  considering  in  com- 


118     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

mittees  plans  to  improve  other  people's  minds 
forcibly,  and  going  to  meetings  to  lament  over 
the  condition  of  those  who  had  no  minds  to  im 
prove,  this  good  lady  would  feel  that  she  had 
earned  a  right  to  a  few  minutes'  respite.  So  she 
would  take  up  "  The  Pirate's  Own  Book,"  and 
feel  a  creepy  sensation  that  would  be  an  effectual 
counter-irritant  to  all  her  anxieties  for  the  wel 
fare  of  the  race.  Things  might  be  going  slowly, 
and  there  were  not  half  as  many  societies  as  there 
ought  to  be,  and  the  world  might  be  in  a  bad  way; 
but  then  it  was  not  so  bad  as  it  was  in  the  days 
of  Black  Beard  ;  and  the  poor  people  who  did 
not  have  any  societies  to  belong  to  were,  after  all, 
not  so  badly  off  as  the  sailors  whom  the  atro 
cious  Nicola  left  on  a  desert  island,  with  nothing 
but  a  blunderbuss  and  Mr.  Brooks's  Family 
Prayer  Book.  In  fact,  it  is  expressly  stated  that 
the  pirates  refused  to  give  them  a  cake  of  soap. 
To  be  on  a  desert  island  destitute  of  soap  made 
the  common  evils  of  life  appear  trifling.  She 
had  been  worried  about  the  wicked  people  who 
would  not  do  their  duty,  however  faithfully  they 
had  been  prodded  up  to  it,  who  would  not  be  life 
members  on  payment  of  fifty  dollars,  and  who 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     119 

would  not  be  annual  members  on  payment  of  a 
dollar  and  signing  the  constitution,  and  who  in 
their  hard  and  impenitent  hearts  would  not  even 
sit  on  the  platform  at  the  annual  meeting  ;  but 
somehow  their  guilt  seemed  less  extreme  after 
she  had  studied  again  the  picture  of  Captain 
Kidd  burying  his  Bible  in  the  sands  near  Plym 
outh.  A  man  who  would  bury  his  Bible,  using  a 
spade  several  times  too  large  for  him,  and  who 
would  strike  such  a  world-defying  attitude  while 
doing  it,  made  the  sin  of  not  joining  the  society 
appear  almost  venial.  In  this  manner  she  gained 
a  certain  moral  perspective ;  even  after  days 
when  the  public  was  unusually  dilatory  about 
reforms,  and  the  wheels  of  progress  had  begun 
to  squeak,  she  would  get  a  good  night's  sleep. 
Contrasting  the  public  with  the  black  back 
ground  of  absolute  piracy,  she  grew  tolerant  of 
its  shortcomings,  and  learned  the  truth  of  George 
Herbert's  saying,  that  "  pleasantness  of  dispo 
sition  is  a  great  key  to  do  good." 

Not  only  is  a  pirate  a  more  comfortable  person 
to  read  about  than  a  pessimist,  but  in  many  re 
spects  he  is  a  more  comfortable  person  to  read 
about  than  a  philanthropist.  The  minute  the 


120     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

philanthropist  is  introduced,  the  author  begins  to 
show  his  own  cleverness  by  discovering  flaws  in 
his  motives.  You  begin  to  see  that  the  poor  man 
has  his  limitations.  Perhaps  his  philanthropies 
are  of  a  different  kind  from  yours,  and  that  irri 
tates  you.  Musical  people,  whom  I  have  heard 
criticise  other  musical  people,  seem  more  offended 
when  some  one  flats  just  a  little  than  when  Tie 
makes  a  big  ear-splitting  discord ;  and  moralists 
are  apt  to  have  the  same  fastidiousness.  The 
philanthropist  is  made  the  victim  of  the  most 
cruel  kind  of  vivisection,  —  a  character-study. 

Here  is  a  fragment  of  conversation  from  a 
study  of  character :  "  l  That  was  really  heroic/ 
said  Felix.  '  That  was  what  he  wanted  to  do,' 
Gertrude  went  on.  '  He  wanted  to  be  magnan 
imous  ;  he  wanted  to  have  a  fine  moral  pleasure  ; 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  do  his  duty;  he  felt 
sublime,  —  that 's  how  he  likes  to  feel.'  " 

This  leaves  the  mind  in  a  painful  state  of  sus 
pense.  The  first  instinct  of  the  unsophisticated 
reader  is  that  if  the  person  has  done  a  good  deed, 
we  ought  not  to  begrudge  him  a  little  innocent 
pleasure  in  it.  If  he  is  magnanimous,  why  not 
let  him  feel  magnanimous?  But  after  Gertrude 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     121 

has  made  these  subtle  suggestions  we  begin  to 
experience  something  like  antipathy  for  a  man 
who  is  capable  of  having  a  fine  moral  pleasure  ; 
who  not  only  does  his  duty,  but  really  likes  to  do 
it.  There  is  something  wrong  about  him,  and  it 
is  all  the  more  aggravating  because  we  are  not 
sure  just  what  it  is.  There  is  no  trouble  of  that 
kind  in  reading  about  pirates.  You  cannot  make 
a  character-study  out  of  a  pirate,  —  he  has  no 
character.  You  know  just  where  to  place  him. 
You  do  not  expect  anything  good  of  him,  and 
when  you  find  a  sporadic  virtue  you  are  corre 
spondingly  elated. 

For  example,  I  am  pleased  to  read  of  the 
pirate  Gibbs  that  he  was  "  affable  and  commu 
nicative,  and  when  he  smiled  he  exhibited  a  mild 
and  gentle  countenance.  His  conversation  was 
concise  and  pertinent,  and  his  style  of  illustra 
tion  quite  original."  If  Gibbs  had  been  a  phi 
lanthropist,  it  is  doubtful  whether  these  social 
and  literary  graces  would  have  been  so  highly 
appreciated. 

So  our  author  feels  a  righteous  glow  when 
speaking  of  the  natives  of  the  Malabar  coasts, 
and  accounting  for  their  truthfulness :  "  For  as 


122     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

they  had  been  used  to  deal  with  pirates,  they 
always  found  them  men  of  honor  in  the  way  of 
trade,  —  a  people  enemies  of  deceit,  and  that 
scorned  to  rob  but  in  their  own  way." 

He  is  a  very  literal-minded  person,  and  takes 
all  his  pirates  seriously,  but  often  we  are  sur 
prised  by  some  touch  of  nature  that  makes  the 
whole  world  kin.  There  was  the  ferocious  Bene- 
vedes,  who  flourished  on  the  west  coast  of  South 
America,  and  who,  not  content  with  sea  power, 
attempted  to  gather  an  army.  It  is  said  that 
"  a  more  finished  picture  of  a  pirate  cannot  be 
conceived,"  and  the  description  that  follows  cer 
tainly  bears  out  this  assertion.  Yet  he  had  his 
own  ideas  of  civilization,  and  a  power  of  adapta 
tion  that  reminds  us  of  the  excellent  and  ingen 
ious  Swiss  Family  Robinson.  When  he  captures 
the  American  whaling-ship  Herculia,  we  are  pre 
pared  for  a  wild  scene  of  carnage  ;  but  instead 
we  are  told  that  Benevedes  immediately  disman 
tled  the  ship,  and  "  out  of  the  sails  made  trousers 
for  half  his  army."  After  the  trousers  had  been 
distributed,  Benevedes  remarked  that  his  army 
was  complete  except  in  one  essential  particular, 
—  he  had  no  trumpets  for  the  cavalry :  where- 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     123 

upon,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  New  Bedford  skip 
per,  he  ripped  off  the  copper  sheets  of  the  vessel, 
out  of  which  a  great  variety  of  copper  trumpets 
were  quickly  manufactured,  and  soon  "  the  whole 
camp  resounded  with  the  warlike  blasts."  While 
the  delighted  pirates  were  enjoying  their  instru 
mental  music,  the  skipper  and  nine  of  the  crew 
took  occasion  to  escape  in  a  boat  which  had  been 
imprudently  concealed  on  the  river  bank. 

In  the  "  Proverbial  Philosophy "  we  are  told 
that 

"  Many  virtues  weighted  by  excess  sink  among1  the  vices, 
Many  vices,  amicably  buoyed,  float  among  the  virtues." 

Had  Mr.  Tupper  been  acquainted  with  the 
career  of  Captain  Davis  of  the  Spanish  Main, 
he  would  have  found  many  apt  illustrations  of 
his  thesis.  Captain  Davis  had  the  vices  inci 
dental  to  a  piratical  career,  but  they  were  ami 
cably  buoyed  up  by  some  virtues  which  would 
have  adorned  a  different  station  in  life.  He  was 
a  great  stickler  for  parliamentary  law,  and  every 
thing  under  his  direction  was  done  decently  and 
in  order.  Whenever  it  was  possible,  he  made  his 
demands  in  writing,  a  method  which  was  business 
like  and  left  no  room  for  misunderstanding. 


124     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

After  a  sloop  had  been  seized  and  duly  pillaged, 
we  are  informed  that :  — 

"  In  full  possession  of  the  vessel  and  stores 
and  goods,  a  large  bowl  of  punch  was  made. 
Under  its  exhilarating  influence  it  was  proposed 
to  choose  a  commander,  and  to  form  a  future 
mode  of  policy.  The  election  was  soon  over  and 
a  large  majority  of  legal  voters  were  in  favor  of 
Davis,  and,  no  scrutiny  being  demanded,  Davis 
was  declared  duly  elected.  He  then  addressed 
them  in  a  short  and  appropriate  speech." 

The  chief  virtue  of  Davis  seemed  to  be  neat 
ness,  which  on  one  occasion  he  used  to  admirable 
advantage.  "  Encountering  a  French  ship  of 
twenty-four  guns,  Davis  proposed  to  the  crew  to 
attack  her,  assuring  them  that  she  would  prove 
a  rich  prize.  This  appeared  to  the  crew  such  a 
hazardous  enterprise  that  they  were  adverse  to 
the  measure  ;  but  he  acquainted  them  that  he 
had  conceived  a  stratagem  that  he  was  confident 
would  succeed." 

This  stratagem  was  worthy  of  the  Beau  Brum- 
mel  of  pirates.  At  the  critical  moment,  the  crew 
"according  to  the  direction  of  Davis  appeared 
on  deck  in  white  shirts,  which  making  an  ap- 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     125 

pearance  of  numbers  the  Frenchman  was  intimi 
dated  and  struck."  Why  the  white  shirts  should 
have  given  the  appearance  of  numbers  it  is  diffi 
cult  to  understand,  but  we  can  well  understand 
the  surprise  of  the  Frenchman  over  the  pirate's 
immaculate  attire. 

Most  of  the  pirates  seem  to  have  conducted 
their  lives  on  a  highly  romantic,  not  to  say  sen 
sational  plan.  This  reprehensible  practice,  of 
course,  must  shut  them  off  from  the  sympathy  of 
all  realists  of  the  stricter  school,  who  hold  that 
there  should  be  no  dramatic  situations,  and  that 
even  when  a  story  is  well  begun  it  should  not  be 
brought  to  a  finish,  but  should  "  peter  out "  in 
the  last  chapters,  no  one  knows  how  or  why. 
Sometimes,  however,  a  pirate  manages  to  come 
to  an  end  sufficiently  commonplace  to  make  a 
plot  for  a  most  irreproachable  novel.  There  was 
Captain  Avery.  He  commenced  the  practice  of 
his  profession  very  auspiciously  by  running  away 
with  a  ship  of  thirty  guns  from  Bristol.  In  the 
Indian  Ocean  he  captured  a  treasure-ship  of  the 
Great  Mogul.  In  this  ship,  it  is  said,  "there 
were  several  of  the  greatest  persons  of  the  court." 
There  was  also  on  board  the  daughter  of  the 


126      CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

Great  Mogul,  who  was  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca. 
The  painstaking  historian  comments  on  this  very 
justly  :  "  It  is  well  known  that  the  people  of  the 
East  travel  with  great  magnificence,  so  that  they 
had  along  with  them  all  their  slaves,  with  a  large 
quantity  of  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  and  im 
mense  sums  of  money.  The  spoil,  therefore,  that 
Avery  received  from  that  ship  was  almost  incal 
culable."  To  capture  the  treasure-ship  of  the 
Great  Mogul  under  such  circumstances  would 
have  turned  the  head  of  any  ordinary  pirate  who 
had  weakened  his  mind  by  reading  works  tinged 
with  romanticism.  His  companions,  when  the 
treasure  was  on  board,  wished  to  sail  to  Mada 
gascar,  and  there  build  a  small  fort ;  but  "  Avery 
disconcerted  the  plan  and  rendered  it  altogether 
unnecessary."  We  know  perfectly  well  what 
these  wretches  would  have  done  if  they  had 
been  allowed  to  have  their  own  way :  they  would 
have  gathered  in  one  of  the  spicy  groves,  and 
would  have  taken  up  vociferously  their  song,  — 

"  Drain,  drain  the  bowl,  each  fearless  soul  ! 
Let  the  world  wag  as  it  will." 

Avery  would  have  none  of  this,  so  when  most  of 
the  men  were  away  from  the  ship  he  sailed  off 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     127 

with  the  treasure,  leaving  them  to  their  evil  ways, 
and  to  a  salutary  poverty.  Here  begins  the  real 
ism  of  the  story.  With  the  treasures  of  the  Great 
Mogul  in  his  hold,  he  did  not  follow  the  illusive 
course  of  Captain  Kidd,  "  as  he  sailed,  as  he 
sailed."  He  did  not  even  lay  his  course  for  the 
"  coasts  of  Coromandel."  Instead  of  that  he 
made  a  bee-line  for  America,  with  the  laudable 
intention  of  living  there  "  in  affluence  and  honor." 
When  he  got  to  America,  however,  he  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  himself,  and  still  less  what 
to  do  with  the  inestimable  pearls  and  diamonds 
of  the  Great  Mogul.  An  ordinary  pirate  of  ro 
mance  would  have  escaped  to  the  Spanish  Main, 
but  Avery  did  just  what  any  realistic  gentleman 
would  do  :  after  he  had  spent  a  short  time  in  other 
cities  —  he  concluded  to  go  to  Boston.  The 
chronicler  adds,  "  Arriving  at  Boston,  he  almost 
resolved  to  settle  there."  It  was  in  the  time  of 
the  Mathers.  But  in  spite  of  its  educational  and 
religious  advantages,  Boston  furnished  no  mar 
ket  for  the  gems  of  the  Orient,  so  Captain  Avery 
went  to  England.  If  he  had  in  his  youth  read  a 
few  detective  stories,  he  might  have  known  how 
to  get  his  jewels  exchanged  for  the  current  coin 


128     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

of  the  realm ;  but  his  early  education  had  been 
neglected,  and  he  was  of  a  singularly  confiding 
and  unsophisticated  nature  —  when  on  land. 
After  suffering  from  poverty  he  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  some  wealthy  merchants  of  Bristol, 
who  took  his  gerns  on  commission,  on  condition 
that  they  need  not  inquire  how  he  came  by  them. 
That  was  the  last  Avery  saw  of  the  gems  of  the 
Great  Mogul.  A  plain  pirate  was  no  match  for 
financiers.  Remittances  were  scanty,  though 
promises  were  frequent.  What  came  of  it  all  ? 
Nothing  came  of  it ;  things  simply  dragged  along. 
Avery  was  not  hanged,  neither  did  he  get  his 
money.  At  last,  on  a  journey  to  Bristol  to  urge 
the  merchants  to  a  settlement,  he  fell  sick  and 
died.  What  became  of  the  gems  ?  Nobody 
knows.  What  became  of  those  merchants  of 
Bristol  ?  Nobody  cares.  A  novelist  might,  out 
of  such  material,  make  an  ending  quite  clever 
and  dreary. 

To  this  realistic  school  of  pirates  belongs 
Thomas  Veal,  known  in  our  history  as  the  "  Pirate 
of  Lynn."  To  turn  from  the  chapter  on  the  Life, 
Atrocities,  and  Bloody  Death  of  Black  Beard  to 
the  chapter  on  the  Lynn  Pirate,  is  a  relief  to  the 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     129 

overstrained  sensibilities.  Lynn  is  in  the  temper 
ate  zone,  and  we  should  naturally  reason  that  its 
piracies  would  be  more  calm  and  equable  than 
those  of  the  tropics,  and  so  they  were.  "  On  one 
pleasant  evening,  a  little  after  sunset,  a  small 
vessel  was  seen  to  anchor  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Saugus  River.  A  boat  was  presently  lowered 
from  her  side,  into  which  four  men  descended  and 
moved  up  the  river."  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
these  men  were  pirates.  In  the  morning  the 
vessel  had  disappeared,  but  a  man  found  a  paper 
whereon  was  a  statement  that  if  a  quantity  of 
shackles,  handcuffs,  and  hatchets  were  placed  in 
a  certain  nook,  silver  would  be  deposited  near  by 
to  pay  for  them.  The  people  of  Lynn  in  those 
days  were  thrifty  folk,  and  the  hardware  was  duly 
placed  in  the  spot  designated,  and  the  silver  was 
found  as  promised.  After  some  months  four 
pirates  came  and  settled  in  the  woods.  The  his 
torian  declares  it  to  be  his  opinion  (and  he  speaks 
as  an  expert)  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  select 
a  place  more  convenient  for  a  gang  of  pirates. 
He  draws  particular  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
"  ground  was  well  selected  for  the  cultivation  of 
potatoes  and  common  vegetables."  This  shows 


130     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

that  the  New  England  environment  gave  an  in 
dustrial  and  agricultural  cast  to  piracy  which  it 
has  not  had  elsewhere.  In  fact,  after  reading  the 
whole  chapter,  I  am  struck  by  the  pacific  and 
highly  moral  character  of  these  pirates.  The 
last  of  them  —  Thomas  Veal  —  took  up  his  abode 
in  what  is  described  as  a  "  spacious  cavern,"  about 
two  miles  from  Lynn.  "  There  the  fugitive  fixed 
his  residence,  and  practiced  the  trade  of  a  shoe 
maker,  occasionally  coming  down  to  the  village  to 
obtain  articles  of  sustenance."  By  uniting  the 
occupations  of  market-gardening,  shoe-making, 
and  piracy,  Thomas  Veal  managed  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  a  frugal  nature,  and  to  live  respected 
by  his  neighbors  in  Lynn.  It  must  have  been  a 
great  alleviation  in  the  lot  of  the  small  boys,  when 
now  and  then  they  escaped  from  the  eyes  of  the 
tithing-men,  and  in  the  cave  listened  to  Mr.  Veal 
singing  his  pirate's  songs.  Of  course  a  solo  could 
give  only  a  faint  conception  of  what  the  full  chorus 
would  have  been  in  the  tropical  forests,  but  still 
it  must  have  curdled  the  blood  to  a  very  consider 
able  extent. 

There  is,  I  must  confess,  a  certain  air  of  vague 
ness  about  this  interesting  narration.     No  overt 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     131 

act  of  piracy  is  mentioned.  Indeed,  the  evidence 
in  regard  to  the  piratical  character  of  Mr.  Veal, 
so  far  as  it  is  given  in  this  book,  is  largely  cir 
cumstantial. 

There  is,  first,  the  geographical  argument. 
The  Saugus  Kiver,  being  a  winding  stream,  was 
admirably  adapted  for  the  resort  of  pirates  who 
wished  to  prey  upon  the  commerce  of  Boston  and 
Salem.  This  establishes  the  opportunity  and 
motive,  and  renders  it  antecedently  probable  that 
piracy  was  practiced.  The  river,  it  is  said,  was 
a  good  place  in  which  to  secrete  boats.  This  we 
know  from  our  reading  was  the  invariable  practice 
of  pirates. 

Another  argument  is  drawn  from  the  umbra 
geous  character  of  the  Lynn  woods.  We  are  told 
with  nice  particularity  that  in  this  tract  of  coun 
try  "  there  were  many  thick  pines,  hemlocks,  and 
cedars,  and  places  where  the  rays  of  the  sun  at 
noon  could  not  penetrate."  Such  a  place  would 
be  just  the  spot  in  which  astute  pirates  would 
be  likely  to  bury  their  treasure,  confident  that 
it  would  never  be  discovered.  The  fact  that 
nothing  ever  has  been  discovered  here  seems  to 
confirm  this  supposition. 


132     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

The  third  argument  is  that  while  a  small  cave 
still  remains,  the  "  spacious  cavern  ?'  in  which 
Thomas  Veal,  the  piratical  shoemaker,  is  said  to 
have  dwelt  no  longer  exists.  This  clinches  the 
evidence.  For  there  was  an  earthquake  in  1658. 
What  more  likely  than  that,  in  the  earthquake, 
"  the  top  of  the  rock  was  loosened  and  crushed 
down  into  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  inclosing  the 
unfortunate  inmate  in  its  unyielding  prison?" 
At  any  rate,  there  is  no  record  of  Mr.  Veal  or  of 
his  spacious  cavern  after  that  earthquake. 

No  one  deserves  to  be  called  an  antiquarian 
who  cannot  put  two  and  two  together,  and  recon 
struct  from  these  data  a  more  or  less  elaborate 
history  of  the  piracies  of  Mr.  Thomas  Veal.  The 
only  other  explanation  of  the  facts  presented,  that 
I  can  think  of  as  having  any  degree  of  plausibility, 
is  that  possibly  Mr.  Veal  may  have  been  an  Ana 
baptist,  escaped  from  Boston,  who  imposed  upon 
the  people  of  Lynn  by  making  them  believe  that 
he  was  only  a  pirate. 

I  must  in  candor  admit  that  the  Plutarch  of 
piracy  is  sometimes  more  edifying  than  entertain 
ing.  He  can  never  resist  the  temptation  to  draw 
a  moral,  and  his  dogmatic  bias  in  favor  of  the 


CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS     133 

doctrine  of  total  depravity  is  only  too  evident. 
But  his  book  has  the  great  advantage  that  it  is 
not  devoid  of  incident.  Take  it  all  in  all,  there 
are  worse  books  to  read  —  after  one  is  tired  of 
reading  books  that  are  better. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  our  novelists  must 
make  home  happy,  or  they  may  drive  many  of 
their  readers  to  "  The  Pirate's  Own  Book."  The 
policy  of  the  absolute  prohibition  of  romance, 
while  excellent  in  theory,  has  practical  difficul 
ties  in  the  way  of  enforcement.  Perhaps,  under 
certain  restrictions,  license  might  be  issued  to 
proper  persons  to  furnish  stimulants  to  the  im 
agination.  Of  course  the  romancer  should  not 
be  allowed  to  sell  to  minors,  nor  within  a  certain 
distance  of  a  schoolhouse,  nor  to  habitual  read 
ers.  My  position  is  the  conservative  one  that 
commended  itself  to  the  judicious  Rollo. 

"  4  Well,  Rollo,'  said  Dorothy,  '  shall  I  tell  you 
a  true  story,  or  one  that  is  not  true  ?  ' 

"  '  I  think,  on  the  whole,  Dorothy,  I  would 
rather  have  it  true.' ' 

But  there  must  have  been  times  —  though  none 
are  recorded  —  when  Rollo  tired  even  of  the  ad 
mirable  clear  thinking  and  precise  information  of 


134     CONSCIENCE  CONCERNING  WITCHCRAFTS 

Jonas.  At  such  times  he  might  have  tolerated  a 
story  that  was  not  so  very  true,  if  only  it  were 
interesting.  There  are  main  thoroughfares  paved 
with  hard  facts  where  the  intellectual  traffic  must 
go  on  continually.  There  are  tracks  on  which, 
if  a  heedless  child  of  romance  should  stray,  he 
is  in  danger  of  being  run  down  by  the  realists, 
those  grim  motor-men  of  the  literary  world.  But 
outside  the  congested  districts  there  should  be 
some  roadways  leading  out  into  the  open  coun 
try  where  all  things  are  still  possible.  At  the 
entrance  to  each  of  these  roads  there  ought  to  be 
displayed  the  notice,  "  For  pleasure  only.  No 
heavy  teaming  allowed."  I  should  not  permit 
any  modern  improvements  in  this  district,  but  I 
should  preserve  all  its  natural  features.  There 
should  be  not  only  a  feudal  castle  with  moat  and 
drawbridge,  but  also  a  pirate's  cave. 


j£  HAPPEN  to  live  in  a  community  where 
there  is  a  deeply  rooted  prejudice  in  favor  of 
intelligence,  with  many  facilities  for  its  advance 
ment.  I  may,  therefore,  be  looked  upon  as  un 
mindful  of  my  privileges  when  I  confess  that 
my  chief  pleasures  have  been  found  in  the  more 
secluded  paths  of  ignorance. 

I  am  no  undiscriminating  lover  of  Ignorance. 
I  do  not  like  the  pitch-black  kind  which  is  the 
negation  of  all  thought.  What  I  prefer  is  a 
pleasant  intellectual  twilight,  where  one  sees 
realities  through  an  entrancing  atmosphere  of 
dubiety. 

In  visiting  a  fine  old  Elizabethan  mansion  in 


136    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

the  south  of  England  our  host  took  us  to  a  room 
where  he  had  discovered  the  evidences  of  a  secret 
panel.  "  What  is  behind  it  ?  "  we  asked.  "  I  do 
not  know,"  he  answered ;  "  while  I  live  it  shall 
never  be  opened,  for  then  I  should  have  no 
secret  chamber." 

There  was  a  philosopher  after  my  own  heart. 
He  was  wise  enough  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
sell  his  birthright  of  mystery  for  a  mess  of 
knowledge.  The  rural  New  Englander  expresses 
his  interest  by  saying,  "  I  want  to  know  !  "  But 
may  one  not  have  &  real  interest  in  persons  and 
things  which  is  free  from  inquisitiveness  ?  For 
myself,  I  frequently  prefer  not  to  know.  Were 
Bluebeard  to  do  me  the  honor  of  intrusting  me 
with  his  keys,  I  should  spend  a  pleasant  half -hour 
speculating  on  his  family  affairs.  I  might  even 
put  the  key  in  the  lock,  but  I  do  not  think  I 
should  turn  it.  Why  should  I  destroy  twenty 
exciting  possibilities  for  the  sake  of  a  single 
discovery  ? 

I  like  to  watch  certain  impressive  figures  as 
they  cross  the  College  Yard.  They  seem  like 
the  sages  whom  Dante  saw  :  — 

O 

"  People  were  there  with  solemn  eyes  and  slow, 
Of  great  authority  in  their  countenance." 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    137 

Do  I  therefore  inquire  their  names,  and  intru 
sively  seek  to  know  what  books  they  have  written, 
before  I  admire  their  scholarship?  No,  to  my 
old-fashioned  way  of  thinking,  scholarship  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  measured ;  it  is  a  mysterious  effluence. 
Were  I  to  see  — 

"  Democritus  who  puts  the  world  on  chance, 
Diogenes,  Anaxagoras,  and  Thales, 
Zeno,  Erapedocles,  and  Heraclitus, 


Tully  and  Livy  and  moral  Seneca, 
Euclid,  geometrician,  and  Ptolemy, 
Galen,  Hippocrates,  and  Avicenna," 

I  should  not  care  to  ask,  "  Which  is  which  ?  " 
still  less  should  I  venture  to  interview  Galen  on 
the  subject  of  medicine,  or  put  leading  questions 
to  Diogenes.  The  combined  impression  of  in 
effable  wisdom  would  be  more  to  me  than  any 
particular  information  I  might  get  out  of  them. 

But,  as  I  said,  I  am  not  an  enthusiast  for  Igno 
rance.  Mine  is  not  the  zeal  of  a  new  convert,  but 
the  sober  preference  of  one  to  the  manner  born. 
I  do  not  look  upon  it  as  a  panacea,  nor,  after  the 
habit  of  reformers,  would  I  insist  that  it  should 
be  taught  in  the  public  schools.  There  are  im 
portant  spheres  wherein  exact  information  is  much 
to  be  preferred. 


138    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

Because  Ignorance  has  its  own  humble  mea 
sure  of  bliss  I  would  not  jump  at  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  folly  to  be  wise.  That  is  an  extrava 
gant  statement.  If  real  wisdom  were  offered  me 
I  should  accept  it  gratefully.  Wisdom  is  an 
honorable  estate,  and,  doubtless,  it  has  pleasures 
of  its  own.  I  only  have  in  mind  the  alternative 
that  is  usually  presented  to  us,  conscious  igno 
rance  or  a  kind  of  knowingness. 

It  is  necessary,  at  this  point,  to  make  a  dis 
tinction.  A  writer  on  the  use  of  words  has  a 
chapter  on  Ignorantism,  which  is  a  term  he  uses 
to  indicate  Ignorance  that  mistakes  itself,  or 
seeks  to  make  others  mistake  it,  for  Knowledge. 
For  Ignorantism  I  make  no  plea.  If  Ignorance 
puts  on  a  false  uniform  and  is  caught  within  the 
enemy's  lines,  it  must  suffer  the  penalties  laid 
down  in  the  laws  of  war. 

Nor  would  I  defend  what  Milton  calls  "  the 
barbarous  ignorance  of  the  schools."  This 
scholastic  variety  consists  of  the  scientific  defi 
nition  and  classification  of  "  things  that  are  n't 
so."  It  has  no  value  except  as  a  sort  of  gela 
tine  culture  for  the  propagation  of  verbal  bac 
teria. 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    139 

But  the  affectations  of  the  pedants  or  the 
sciolists  should  not  be  allowed  to  cast  discredit 
on  the  fair  name  of  Ignorance.  It  is  only 
natural  Ignorance  which  I  praise;  not  that 
which  is  acquired.  It  was  a  saying  of  Landor 
that  if  a  man  had  a  large  mind  he  could  afford 
to  let  the  greater  part  of  it  lie  fallow.  Of  course 
we  small  proprietors  cannot  do  things  on  such  a 
generous  scale ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  if  one 
has  only  a  little  mind  it  is  a  mistake  to  keep  it 
all  under  cultivation. 

I  hope  that  this  praise  of  Ignorance  may  not 
give  offense  to  any  intelligent  reader  who  may 
feel  that  he  is  placed  by  reason  of  his  acquire 
ments  beyond  the  pale  of  our  sympathies.  He 
need  fear  no  such  exclusion.  My  Lady  Igno 
rance  is  gracious  and  often  bestows  her  choicest 
gifts  on  those  who  scorn  her.  The  most  erudite 
person  is  intelligent  only  in  spots.  Browning's 
Bishop  Blougram  questioned  whether  he  should 
be  called  a  skeptic  or  believer,  seeing  that  he 
could  only  exchange 

"  a  life  of  doubt  diversified  by  faith, 
For  one  of  faith  diversified  by  doubt : 
We  called  the  chess-board  white,  —  we  call  it  black." 


140    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

Whether  a  person  thinks  of  his  own  intellectual 
state  as  one  of  knowledge  diversified  by  igno 
rance  or  one  of  ignorance  diversified  by  know 
ledge  is  a  matter  of  temperament.  We  like  him 
better  when  he  frankly  calls  his  intellectual 
chess-board  black.  That,  at  any  rate,  was  the 
original  color,  the  white  is  an  afterthought. 

Let  me,  then,  without  suspicion  of  treasonable 
intent,  be  allowed  to  point  out  what  we  may  call 
in  Shakespearean  phrase  "the  honorable  points 
of  ignorance." 

The  social  law  against  "  talking  shop  "  is  an 
indication  of  the  very  widespread  opinion  that 
the  exhibition  of  unmitigated  knowledge  is  un 
seemly,  outside  of  business  hours.  When  we 
meet  for  pleasure  we  prefer  that  it  should  be  on 
the  humanizing  ground  of  not  knowing.  Nothing 
is  so  fatal  to  conversation  as  an  authoritative  ut 
terance.  When  a  man  who  is  capable  of  giving 
it  enters, 

"  All  talk  dies,  as  in  a  grove  all  song 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  bird  of  prey." 

Conversation  about  the  weather  would  lose  all  its 
easy  charm  in  the  presence  of  the  Chief  of  the 
Weather  Bureau. 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    141 

It  is  possible  that  the  fear  of  exhibiting  un 
usual  information  in  a  mixed  company  may  be 
a  survival  of  primitive  conditions.  Just  as  the 
domesticated  dog  will  turn  around  on  the  rug 
before  lying  down,  for  hereditary  reasons  which 
I  do  not  remember,  so  it  is  with  civilized  man. 
Once  ignorance  was  universal  and  enforced  by 
penalties.  In  the  progress  of  the  race  the  envi 
ronment  has  been  modified,  but  so  strong  is  the 
influence  of  heredity  that  The  Man  Who  Knows 
no  sooner  enters  the  drawing-room  than  he  is 
seized  by  guilty  fears.  His  ancestors  for  hav 
ing  exhibited  a  moiety  of  his  intelligence  were 
executed  as  wizards.  But  perhaps  the  ordinary 
working  of  natural  selection  may  account  for  the  . 
facts.  The  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  ad 
mits  of  no  exceptions,  and  the  fittest  to  give  us 
pleasure  in  conversation  is  the  sympathetic  per 
son  who  appears  to  know  very  little  more  than 
we  do. 

In  the  commerce  of  ideas  there  must  be  reci 
procity.  We  will  not  deal  with  one  who  insists 
that  the  balance  of  trade  shall  always  be  in  his 
favor.  Moreover  there  must  be  a  spice  of  in 
certitude  about  the  transaction.  The  real  joy  of 


142    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

the  intellectual  traffic  comes  when  we  sail  away 
like  the  old  merchant  adventurers  in  search  of 
a  market.  There  must  be  no  prosaic  bills  of 
exchange :  it  must  be  primitive  barter.  We 
have  a  choice  cargo  of  beads  which  we  are 
willing  to  exchange  for  frankincense  and  ivory. 
If  on  some  strange  coast  we  should  meet  simple- 
minded  people  who  have  only  wampum,  perhaps 
even  then  we  might  make  a  trade. 

Have  you  never  when  engaged  in  such  com 
merce  felt  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  grave 
Tyrian  trader  who  had  sailed  away  from  the  fre 
quented  marts,  and  held  on 

"  O'er  the  blue  Midland  waters  with  the  gale, 

Betwixt  the  Syrtes  and  soft  Sicily, 

To  where  the  Atlantic  raves 
Outside  the  western  straits,  and  unbent  sails 
There  where  down  cloudy  cliffs,  through  sheets  of  foam, 
Shy  traffickers,  the  dark  Iberians  come  ; 
And  on  the  beach  undid  his  corded  bales." 

It  is  not  every  day  that  one  meets  with  such 
shy  traffickers,  for  the  world  is  becoming  very 
sophisticated.  One  does  not  ask  that  those  with 
whom  we  converse  should  be  ignorant  of  every 
thing  ;  it  is  enough  that  they  should  not  know 
what  is  in  our  bales  before  we  undo  them. 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    143 

One  very  serious  drawback  to  our  pleasure  in 
conversation  with  a  too  well-informed  person  is 
\  the  nervous  strain  that  is  involved.  We  are 
always  wondering  what  will  happen  when  he 
comes  to  the  end  of  his  resources.  After  listen 
ing  to  one  who  discourses  with  surprising  accu 
racy  upon  any  particular  topic,  we  feel  a  delicacy 
in  changing  the  subject.  It  seems  a  mean  trick, 
like  suddenly  removing  the  chair  on  which  a 
guest  is  about  to  sit  down  for  the  evening.  With 
one  who  is  interested  in  a  great  many  things  he 
knows  little  about  there  is  no  such  difficulty.  If 
he  has  passed  the  first  flush  of  youth,  it  no  longer 
embarrasses  him  to  be  caught  now  and  then  in  a 
mistake ;  indeed  your  correction  is  welcomed  as 
an  agreeable  interruption,  and  serves  as  a  start 
ing  point  for  a  new  series  of  observations. 

The  pleasure  of  conversation  is  enhanced  if 
one  feels  assured  not  only  of  wide  margins  of 
ignorance,  but  also  of  the  absence  of  uncanny 
quickness  of  mind. 

I  should  not  like  to  be  neighbor  to  a  wit.  It 
would  be  like  being  in  proximity  to  a  live  wire. 
A  certain  insulating  film  of  kindly  stupidity  is 
needed  to  give  a  margin  of  safety  to  human  in- 


144    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

tercourse.  There  are  certain  minds  whose  pro 
cesses  convey  the  impression  of  alternating  cur 
rents  of  high  voltage  on  a  wire  that  is  not  quite 
large  enough  for  them.  From  such  I  would  with 
draw  myself. 

One  is  freed  from  all  such  apprehensions  in  the 
companionship  of  people  who  make  no  pretensions 
to  any  kind  of  cleverness.  "  The  laughter  of 
fools  is  like  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot." 
"What  cheerful  sounds  !  The  crackling  of  the  dry 
thorns  !  and  the  merry  bubbling  of  the  pot ! 

There  is  an  important  part  played  by  what  I 
may  call  defensive  Ignorance.  It  was  said  of 
Robert  Elsmere  that  he  had  a  mind  that  was 
defenseless  against  the  truth.  It  is  a  fine  thing 
to  be  thus  open  to  conviction,  but  the  mental  hos 
pitality  of  one  who  is  without  prejudices  is  likely 
to  be  abused.  All  sorts  of  notions  importunately 
demand  attention,  and  he  who  thinks  to  examine 
all  their  credentials  will  find  no  time  left  for  his 
own  proper  affairs. 

For  myself,  I  like  to  have  a  general  reception- 
room  in  my  mind  for  all  sorts  of  notions  with 
which  I  desire  to  keep  up  only  a  calling  acquaint- 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    145 

ance.  Here  let  them  all  be  welcomed,  good,  bad, 
and  indifferent,  in  the  spacious  antechamber  of 
my  Ignorance.  But  I  am  not  able  to  invite 
them  into  my  private  apartments,  for  I  am  living 
in  a  small  way  in  cramped  quarters,  where  there 
is  only  room  for  my  own  convictions.  There  are 
many  things  that  are  interesting  to  hear  about 
which  I  do  not  care  to  investigate.  If  one  is 
willing  to  give  me  the  result  of  his  speculations 
on  various  esoteric  doctrines  I  am  ready  to  re 
ceive  them  in  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  offered, 
but  I  should  not  think  of  examining  them  closely ; 
it  would  be  too  much  like  looking  a  gift  horse  in 
the  mouth. 

I  should  like  to  talk  with  a  Mahatma  about  the 
constitution  of  the  astral  body.  I  do  not  know 
enough  about  the  subject  to  contradict  his  asser 
tions,  and  therefore  he  would  have  it  all  his  own 
way.  But  were  he  to  become  insistent  and  ask 
me  to  look  into  the  matter  for  myself,  I  should 
beg  to  be  excused.  I  would  not  take  a  single 
step  alone.  In  such  a  case  I  agree  with  Sir 
Thomas  Browne  that  "  it  is  better  to  sit  down  in 
modest  ignorance  and  rest  contented  with  the 
natural  blessings  of  our  own  reasons." 


146    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

There  are  zealous  persons  of  a  proselyting  turn 
of  mind  who  insist  upon  our  accepting  their  ideas 
or  giving  reasons  for  our  rejection  of  them. 
When  we  see  the  flames  of  controversy  sweeping 
upon  us,  the  only  safety  lies  in  setting  a  back 
fire  which  shall  clear  the  ground  of  any  fuel  for 
argument.  If  we  can  only  surround  ourselves 
with  a  bare  space  of  nescience  we  may  rest  in 
peace.  I  have  seen  a  simple  Chinese  laundry- 
man,  by  adopting  this  plan,  resist  a  storm  of 
argument  and  invective  without  losing  his  temper 
or  yielding  his  point.  Serene,  imperturbable,  in 
scrutable,  he  stood  undisturbed  by  the  strife  of 
tongues.  He  had  one  supreme  advantage,  —  he 
did  not  know  the  language. 

It  was  thus  in  the  sixteenth  century,  when  reli 
gious  strife  waxed  mad  around  him,  that  Mon 
taigne  preserved  a  little  spot  of  tolerant  thought. 
"  O  what  a  soft,  easy,  and  wholesome  pillow  is 
ignorance  and  incuriosity  whereon  to  compose  a 
well-contrived  head !  " 

This  sounds  like  mere  Epicureanism,  but  Mon 
taigne  had  much  to  say  for  himself  :  "  Great 
abuse  in  the  world  is  begot,  or,  to  speak  more 
boldly,  all  the  abuses  of  the  world  are  begot  by 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    147 

our  being  taught  to  be  afraid  of  professing  our 
ignorance,  and  that  we  are  bound  to  accept  all 
things  we  are  not  able  to  refute.  .  .  .  They  make 
me  hate  things  that  are  likely  when  they  impose 
upon  me  for  infallible.  I  love  those  words  which 
mollify  and  moderate  the  temerity  of  our  propo 
sitions,  '  Peradventure,  in  some  sort,  't  is  said,  I 
think,'  and  the  like.  .  .  .  There  is  a  sort  of  igno 
rance,  strong  and  generous,  that  yields  nothing  in 
honor  and  courage  to  knowledge ;  an  ignorance 
which  to  conceive  requires  no  less  knowledge 
than  knowledge  itself." 

Not  only  is  protection  needed  from  the  dog 
matic  assaults  of  our  neighbors,  but  also  from 
our  own  premature  ideas.  There  are  opinions 
which  we  are  willing  to  receive  on  probation,  but 
these  probationers  must  be  taught  by  judicious 
snubbing  to  know  their  place.  The  plausibilities 
and  probabilities  that  are  pleasantly  received 
must  not  airily  assume  the  place  of  certainties. 
Because  you  say  to  a  stranger,  "  I  'm  glad  to  see 
you,"  it  is  not  certain  that  you  are  ready  to  sign 
his  note  at  the  bank. 

When  one  happens  to  harbor  any  ideas  of  a 
radical  character,  he  is  fortunate  if  he  is  so  con< 


148    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

stituted  that  it  is  not  necessary  for  his  self- 
respect  that  he  should  be  cock-sure.  The  con 
sciousness  of  the  imperfection  of  his  knowledge 
serves  as  a  buffer  when  the  train  of  progress 
starts  with  a  jerk. 

Sir  Thomas  More  was,  it  is  evident,  favorably 
impressed  with  many  of  the  sentiments  of  the 
gentleman  from  Utopia,  but  it  was  a  great  relief 
to  him  to  be  able  to  give  them  currency  without 
committing  himself  to  them.  He  makes  no  dog 
matic  assertion  that  the  constitution  of  Utopia 
was  better  than  that  of  the  England  of  Henry 
VIII.  In  fact,  he  professes  to  know  nothing 
about  Utopia  except  from  mere  hearsay.  He 
gracefully  dismisses  the  subject,  allowing  the 
seeds  of  revolutionary  ideas  to  float  away  on  the 
thistle-down  of  polite  Ignorance. 

"  When  Raphael  had  made  an  end  of  speak 
ing,  though  many  things  occurred  to  me  both 
concerning  the  manners  and  laws  of  that  country 
that  seemed  very  absurd  .  .  .  yet  since  I  per 
ceived  that  Raphael  was  weary  and  I  was  not  sure 
whether  he  could  bear  contradiction  ...  I  only 
commended  their  constitution  and  the  account  he 
had  given  of  it  in  general ;  and  so,  taking  him  by 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    149 

the  hand,  carried  him  to  supper,  and  told  him  I 
would  find  some  other  time  for  examining  this 
subject  more  particularly  and  discoursing  more 
copiously  upon  it." 

One  whose  quiet  tastes  lead  him  away  from  the 
main  traveled  roads  into  the  byways  of  Ignorance 
is  likely  to  retain  a  feeling  in  regard  to  books 
which  belongs  to  an  earlier  stage  of  culture. 
Time  was  when  a  book  was  a  symbol  of  intel 
lectual  mysteries  rather  than  a  tool  to  be  used. 
When  Omar  Khayyam  sang  of  the  delights  of  a 
jug  of  wine  and  a  book,  I  do  not  think  he  was 
intemperate  in  the  use  of  either.  The  same  book 
and  the  same  jug  of  wine  would  last  him  a  long 
time.  The  chief  thing  was  that  it  gave  him  a 
comfortable  feeling  to  have  them  within  reach. 

The  primitive  feeling  in  regard  to  a  book  as  a 
kind  of  talisman  survives  chiefly  among  biblio 
philes,  but  with  them  it  is  overlaid  by  matters  of 
taste  which  are  quite  beyond  the  comprehension 
of  ordinary  people.  As  for  myself,  I  know  no 
thing  of  such  niceties. 

I  know  nothing  of  rare  bindings  or  fine  edi 
tions.  My  heart  is  never  disturbed  by  coveting 


150    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

the  contents  of  my  neighbor's  bookshelves.  In* 
deed,  I  have  always  listened  to  the  tenth  com 
mandment  with  a  tranquil  heart  since  I  learned, 
in  the  Shorter  Catechism,  that  "  the  tenth  com 
mandment  forbiddeth  all  discontentment  with 
our  own  estate,  envying  or  grieving  at  the  good 
of  our  neighbor  and  all  inordinate  motions  and 
affections  to  anything  that  is  his."  If  that  be  all, 
it  is  not  aimed  at  me,  particularly  in  this  matter 
of  books. 

I  feel  no  discontentment  at  the  disorderly  array 
of  bound  volumes  that  I  possess.  I  know  that 
they  are  no  credit  either  to  my  taste  or  to  my 
scholarship,  but  if  that  offends  my  neighbor,  the 
misery  is  his,  not  mine.  If  he  should  bring  a 
railing  accusation  against  me,  let  him  remember 
that  there  is  a  ninth  commandment  which  "  for 
biddeth  anything  that  is  injurious  to  our  own  or 
our  neighbor's  good  name."  As  for  any  inor 
dinate  motions  or  affections  toward  his  literary 
treasures,  I  have  no  more  than  toward  his  choice 
Collection  of  stamps. 

Yet  I  have  one  weakness  in  common  with  the 
bibliophile;  I  have  a  liking  for  certain  books 
which  I  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  read. 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    151 

Just  as  according  to  the  mediaeval  theory  there 
was  a  sanctity  about  a  duly  ordained  clergyman 
altogether  apart  from  his  personal  character,  so 
there  is  to  my  mind  an  impressiveness  about  some 
volumes  which  has  little  to  do  with  their  contents, 
or  at  least  with  my  knowledge  of  them.  Why 
should  we  be  too  curious  in  regard  to  such  matters? 
There  are  books  which  I  love  to  see  on  the  shelf. 
T  feel  that  virtue  goes  out  of  them,  but  I  should 
think  it  undue  familiarity  to  read  them. 

The  persons  who  have  written  on  "  Books  that 
have  helped  me  "  have  usually  confined  their  list 
to  books  which  they  have  actually  read.  One 
book  has  clarified  their  thoughts,  another  has 
stimulated  their  wills,  another  has  given  them 
useful  knowledge.  But  are  there  no  Christian 
virtues  to  be  cultivated  ?  What  about  humility, 
that  pearl  of  great  price  ? 

To  be  constantly  reminded  that  you  have  not 
read  Kant's  "  Critique  of  the  Pure  Reason,"  and 
that  therefore  you  have  no  right  to  express  a 
final  opinion  on  philosophy,  does  not  that  save 
you  from  no  end  of  unnecessary  dogmatism  ? 
The  silent  monitor  with  its  accusing,  uncut  pages 
is  a  blessed  help  to  the  meekness  of  wisdom.  A 


152    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

book  that  has  helped  me  is  "The  History  of 
the  Eebellion  and  Civil  Wars  of  England,"  by 
Edward,  Earl  of  Clarendon.  I  am  by  nature  and 
education  a  Cromwellian,  of  a  rather  narrow  type. 
I  am  more  likely  than  not  to  think  of  Charles  I. 
as  a  man  of  sin.  When,  therefore,  I  brought 
home  Clarendon's  History  I  felt  a  glow  of  con 
scious  virtue  ;  the  volume  was  an  outward  and 
visible  sign  of  inward  and  spiritual  grace,  —  the 
grace  of  tolerance  ;  and  so  it  has  ever  been  to  me. 
Years  have  passed,  and  the  days  of  leisure  have 
not  yet  come  when  I  could  devote  myself  to  the 
reading  of  it.  Perhaps  the  fact  that  I  discovered 
that  the  noble  earl's  second  sentence  contains 
almost  three  hundred  words  may  have  had  a  dis 
couraging  influence,  —  but  we  will  let  that  pass. 
Because  I  have  not  crossed  the  Rubicon  of  the 
second  chapter,  will  you  say  that  the  book  has 
not  influenced  me?  "When  to  the  sessions  of 
sweet,  silent  thought,"  with  the  Earl  of  Clarendon, 
"  I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past,"  is  it 
necessary  that  I  should  laboriously  turn  the  pages  ? 
It  is  enough  that  I  feel  my  prejudices  oozing 
away,  and  that  I  am  convinced,  when  I  look  at 
the  much  prized  volume,  that  there  are  two  sides 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    153 

to  this  matter  of  the  English  Commonwealth. 
Could  the  most  laborious  reading  do  more  for 
me? 

Indeed,  it  is  dangerous,  sometimes,  not  to  let 
well-enough  alone.  Wordsworth's  fickle  Muse 
gave  him  several  pretty  fancies  about  the  unseen 
banks  of  Yarrow.  "  Yarrow  Unvisited  "  was  so 
delightful  that  he  was  almost  tempted  to  be  con 
tent  with  absent  treatment. 

"  We  will  not  see  them,  will  not  go 
To-day  nor  yet  to-morrow, 
Enough  if  in  our  hearts  we  know 
There  's  such  a  place  as  Yarrow. 
Be  Yarrow's  stream  unseen,  unknown, 
It  must,  or  we  shall  rue  it, 
We  have  a  vision  of  our  own, 
Ah,  why  should  we  undo  it  ?  " 

Ah,  why,  indeed  ?  the  reader  asks,  after  reading 
Yarrow  Visited  and  Yarrow  Re-visited.  The 
visits  were  a  mistake. 

Perhaps  Clarendon  Unread  is  as  good  for  my 
soul  as  Clarendon  Read  or  Clarendon  Re-read, 
Who  can  tell  ? 

There  is  another  sphere  in  which  the  honorable 
points  of  ignorance  are  not  always  sufficiently 


154    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF   IGNORANCE 

appreciated,  that  of  Travel.  The  pleasure  of 
staying  at  home  consists  in  being  surrounded  by 
things  which  are  familiar  and  which  we  know  all 
about.  The  primary  pleasure  of  going  abroad 
consists  in  the  encounter  with  the  unfamiliar  and 
the  unknown. 

That  was  the  impulse  which  stirred  old  Ulysses 
to  set  forth  once  more  upon  his  travels. 

"  For  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  g-ulfs  will  wash  us  down, 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew." 

"It  maybe" — there  lay  the  charm.  There 
was  no  knowing  what  might  happen  on  the  dark, 
broad  seas.  Perhaps  they  might  get  lost,  and 
then  again  they  might  come  upon  the  Happy 
Isles.  And  if  as  they  sailed  under  their  looming 
shores  they  should  see  the  great  Achilles  —  why 
all  the  better ! 

What  joys  the  explorers  of  the  New  World 
experienced  !  The  heart  leaps  up  at  the  very  title 
of  Sebastian  Cabot's  joint  stock  company.  "  Mer 
chants  Adventurers  of  England  for  the  discovery 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    165 

of  lands,  territories,  isles  and  signories,  unknown." 
There  was  no  knowing  beforehand  which  was  an 
island  and  which  the  mainland.  All  they  had  to 
do  was  to  keep  on,  sure  only  of  finding  something 
which  they  had  not  expected.  When  they  got  to 
the  mainland  they  were  as  likely  as  not  to  stumble 
on  the  great  Khan  himself.  Of  course  they  might 
not  make  a  discovery  of  the  first  magnitude  like 
that  of  the  Spaniards  on  the  Peak  in  Darien,  — 
but  if  it  was  not  one  thing  it  was  another ! 

Two  or  three  miles  back  of  Plymouth,  Mass., 
is  a  modest  little  pond  called  Billington's  Sea. 
Billington,  an  adventurous  Pilgrim,  had  climbed 
a  tree,  and  looking  westwards  had  caught  sight 
of  the  shimmering  water.  He  looked  at  it  with 
a  wild  surmise,  and  then  the  conviction  flashed 
upon  him  that  he  had  discovered  the  goal  of 
hardy  mariners,  —  the  great  South  Sea.  That 
was  a  great  moment  for  Billington  ! 

Of  course  the  Spaniards  were  more  fortunate 
in  their  geographical  position.  It  turned  out 
that  it  was  the  Pacific  that  they  saw  from  their 
Peak  in  Darien  ;  while  Billington's  Sea  does  not 
grow  on  acquaintance. 

But  my  heart  goes  out  to  Billington.     He  also 


156    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

was  a  discoverer,  according  to  his  lights.  He 
belonged  to  a  hardy  breed,  and  could  stare  on 
new  scenes  with  the  best  of  them.  It  was  not 
his  fault  that  the  Pacific  was  not  there.  If  it 
had  been,  Billington  would  have  discovered  it. 
We  know  perfectly  well  that  the  Pacific  Ocean 
does  not  lave  the  shores  of  Plymouth  County, 
and  so  we  should  not  go  out  into  the  woods  on 
a  fine  morning  to  look  for  it.  There  is  where 
Billington  had  the  advantage  of  us. 

Is  it  not  curious  that  while  we  profess  to  envy 
the  old  adventurers  the  joys  of  discovery,  yet 
before  we  set  out  on  our  travels  we  make  it  a 
point  of  convenience  to  rob  ourselves  of  these 
possibilities  ?  Before  we  set  out  for  Ultima  Thule 
we  must  know  precisely  where  it  is,  and  how  we 
are  going  to  get  there,  and  what  we  are  to  see 
and  what  others  have  said  about  it.  After  a 
laborious  course  of  reading  the  way  is  as  familiar 
to  our  minds  as  the  road  to  the  post  office.  After 
that  there  is  nothing  more  for  us  to  do  but  to 
sally  forth  to  verify  the  guide-books.  We  have 
done  all  that  we  could  to  brush  the  bloom  off  our 
native  Ignorance. 

Of  course  even  then   all  the  possibilities  of 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    157 

discovery  are  not  shut  out.  The  best-informed 
person  cannot  be  completely  guarded  against 
surprise.  Accidents  will  happen,  and  there  is 
always  the  chance  that  one  may  have  been 
misinformed. 

I  remember  a  depressed  looking  lady  whom  I 
encountered  as  she  trudged  through  the  galleries 
of  the  Vatican  with  grim  conscientiousness.  She 
had  evidently  a  stern  duty  to  perform  for  the 
cause  of  Art.  .  But  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  the 
stillness  was  broken  by  her  voice,  which  had  a 
note  of  triumph  as  she  spoke  to  her  daughter. 
She  had  discovered  an  error  in  Baedeker.  It 
infused  new  life  into  her  tired  soul. 

"  Some  flowerets  of  Eden  we  still  inherit 
Though  the  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  them  all." 

Speaking  of  the  Vatican,  that  suggests  the 
weak  point  in  my  argument.  It  suggests  that 
there  are  occasions  when  knowledge  is  very  con 
venient.  On  the  Peak  in  Darien  the  first  comer, 
with  the  wild  surmise  of  ignorance,  has  the  ad 
vantage  in  the  quality  of  his  sensation  ;  but  it 
is  different  in  Jerusalem  or  Rome.  There  the 
pleasure  consists  in  the  fact  that  a  great  many 
interesting  people  have  been  there  before  and 


158    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

done  many  interesting  things,  which  it  might 
be  well  to  know  about. 

At  this  point  I  am  quite  willing  to  grant  an 
inch  ;  with  the  understanding  that  it  shall  not  be 
lengthened  into  an  ell.  The  Camel  of  Know 
ledge  may  push  his  head  into  the  tent,  and  we 
shall  have  to  resist  his  further  encroachments  as 
we  may. 

What  we  call  the  historic  sense  is  not  con 
sistent  with  a  state  of  nescience.  The  picture 
which  the  eye  takes  in  is  incomplete  without  the 
thousand  associations  which  come  from  previous 
thought.  Still,  it  remains  true  that  the  finest 
pleasure  does  not  come  when  the  mental  images 
are  the  most  precise.  Before  entering  Paradise 
the  mediaeval  pilgrims  tasted  of  the  streams  of 
Eunoe  and  Lethe,  —  the  happy  memory  and  the 
happy  forgetfulness.  The  most  potent  charm 
comes  from  the  judicious  mingling  of  these 
waters. 

There  is  a  feeling  of  antiquity  that  only  comes 
now  and  then,  but  which  it  is  worth  traveling  far 
to  experience.  It  is  the  thrill  that  comes  when 
we  consciously  stand  in  the  presence  of  the  re 
mote  past.  Some  scene  brings  with  it  an  im- 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    159 

pression  of  immemorial  time.  In  almost  every 
case  we  find  that  it  comes  from  being  reminded 
of  something  which  we  have  once  known  and 
more  than  half  forgotten.  What  are  the  "  mists 
of  time  "  but  imperfect  memories  ? 

Modern  psychologists  have  given  tardy  recog 
nition  to  the  "  Subliminal  Self,"  —  the  self  that 
lodges  under  the  threshold  of  consciousness.  He 
is  a  shy  gnome,  and  loves  the  darkness  rather 
than  the  light;  not,  as  I  believe,  because  his 
deeds  are  evil,  but  for  reasons  best  known  to 
himself.  To  all  appearances  he  is  the  most  ig 
norant  fellow  in  the  world,  and  yet  he  is  no  fool. 
As  for  the  odds  and  ends  that  he  stores  up  under 
the  threshold,  they  are  of  more  value  than  the 
treasures  that  the  priggish  Understanding  dis 
plays  in  his  show  windows  upstairs. 

In  traveling  through  historic  lands  the  Sub 
liminal  Self  overcomes  his  shyness.  There  are 
scenes  and  even  words  that  reach  back  into  hoar 
antiquity,  and  bring  us  into  the  days  of  eld. 

Each  person  has  his  own  chronology.  If  I 
were  to  seek  to  bring  to  mind  the  very  ancientest 
time,  I  should  not  think  of  the  cave-dwellers  : 
I  should  repeat,  "The  Kenites,  the  Kenizzites, 


160    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

the  Kadmoriites,  the  Hittites,  the  Perizzites,  the 
Amorites,  the  Canaanites,  the  Girgashites." 

There  is  antiquity  !  It  is  not  only  a  long  time 
since  these  tribes  dwelt  in  the  land ;  it  has  been 
a  long  time  since  I  first  heard  of  them. 

My  memory  goes  back  to  the  time  when  a  dis 
consolate  little  boy  sat  on  a  bench  in  a  Sunday- 
school  and  asked  himself,  "  What  is  a  Gir- 
gashite  ?  " 

The  habit  of  the  Sunday-school  of  mingling 
the  historical  and  .ethical  elements  in  one  inextri 
cable  moral  had  made  it  uncertain  whether  the 
Girgashite  was  a  person  or  a  sin.  In  either  case 
it  happened  a  long  time  ago.  There  upon  the 
very  verge  of  Time  stood  the  Girgashite,  like  the 
ghost  in  Ossian,  "  His  spear  was  a  column  of 
mist,  and  the  stars  looked  dim  through  his  form." 

Happily  my  studies  have  not  led  in  that  direc 
tion,  and  there  is  nothing  to  disturb  the  first 
impression.  If  some  day  wandering  over  Ori 
ental  hills  I  should  come  upon  some  broken 
monuments  of  the  Girgashites,  I  am  sure  that 
I  should  feel  more  of  a  thrill  than  could  possibly 
come  to  my  more  instructed  companion.  To  him 
it  would  be  only  the  discovery  of  another  fact,  to 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    161 

fit  into  his  scheme  of  knowledge  :  to  me  it  would 
be  like  stumbling  unawares  into  the  primeval 
world. 

What  is  more  delightful  than  in  a  railway 
train  in  Italy  to  hear  voices  in  the  night  calling 
out  names  that  recall  the  lost  arts  of  our  child 
hood  !  There  is  a  sense 

"  Of  something  here  like  something  there, 
Of  something  done,  I  know  not  where, 
Such  as  no  language  can  declare." 

There  is  a  bittersweet  to  it,  for  there  is  a  mo 
mentary  fear  that  you  may  be  called  upon  to  con 
strue  ;  but  when  that  is  past  it  is  pure  joy. 

"  Monte  Soracte,"  said  the  Italian  gentleman 
on  the  train  between  Foligno  and  Rome,  as  he 
pointed  out  a  picturesque  eminence.  My  an 
swering  smile  was  intended  to  convey  the  im 
pression  that  one  touch  of  the  classics  makes  the 
whole  world  kin.  Had  I  indeed  kept  up  my 
Horace,  a  host  of  clean-cut  ideas  would  have  in 
stantly  rushed  into  my  mind.  "  Is  that  Soracte  ! 
It  is  not  what  I  had  reason  to  expect.  As  a 
mountain  I  prefer  Monadnock." 

Fortunately  I  had  no  such  prepossessions.  I 
had  expected  nothing.  There  only  came  impres- 


162    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

sions  of  lessons  years  ago  in  a  dingy  school-room 
presided  over  by  a  loved  instructor  whom  we 
knew  as  "Prof.  Ike."  Looking  back  through 
the  mists  of  time,  I  felt  that  I  had  been  the 
better  for  having  learned  the  lessons,  and  none 
the  worse  for  having  long  since  forgotten  them. 
In  those  days  Soracte  had  been  a  noun  standing 
in  mysterious  relations  to  a  verb  unknown ;  but 
now  it  was  evident  that  it  was  a  mountain. 
There  it  stood  under  the  cleat  Italian  sky  just 
as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  Virgil  and  Horace. 
Thoughts  of  Horace  and  of  the  old  professor 
mingled  pleasantly  so  long  as  the  mountain  was 
in  sight. 

It  may  seem  to  some  timid  souls  that  this 
praise  of  Ignorance  may  have  a  sinister  motive, 
and  may  be  intended  to  deter  from  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  intended  to 
encourage  those  who  are  "  faint  yet  pursuing." 

It  must  have  occurred  to  every  serious  person 
that  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  is  not  what  it  once 
was.  Time  was  when  to  know  seemed  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world.  All  that  a  man  had  to  do 
was  to  assert  dogmatically  that  a  thing  was  so, 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    163 

and  then  argue  it  out  with  some  one  who  had 
even  less  acquaintance  with  the  subject  than  he 
had.  He  was  not  hampered  by  a  rigid,  scientific 
method,  nor  did  he  need  to  make  experiments, 
which  after  all  might  not  strengthen  his  position. 
The  chief  thing  was  a  certain  tenacity  of  opinion 
which  would  enable  him,  in  Pope's  phrase,  to 
"  hold  the  eel  of  science  by  the  tail."  There 
were  no  troublesome  experts  to  cast  discredit  on 
this  slippery  sport.  If  a  man  had  a  knack  at 
metaphysics  and  a  fine  flow  of  technical  language 
he  could  satisfy  all  reasonable  curiosity  about 
the  Universe.  Or  with  the  minimum  of  effort 
he  might  attain  a  jovial  scholarship  adequate  for 
all  convivial  purposes,  like  Chaucer's  pilgrim 

"  Whan  that  he  wel  dronken  had  the  win, 
Than  wold  he  speken  no  word  but  Latin." 

It  was  the  golden  age  of  the  amateur,  when 
certainty  could  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  one 
could  stake  out  any  part  of  the  wide  domain  of 
human  interest  and  hold  it  by  the  right  of  squat 
ter  sovereignty.  But  in  these  days  the  man  who 
aspires  to  know  must  do  something  more  than 
assert  his  conviction.  He  must  submit  to  all 
sorts  of  mortifying  tests,  and  at  best  he  can  ob- 


164    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

tain  a  title  to  only  the  tiniest  bit  of  the  field  he 
covets. 

With  the  severer  definitions  of  knowledge  and 
the  delimitation  of  the  territory  which  any  one 
may  call  his  own  there  has  come  a  curious  result. 
While  the  aggregate  of  intellectual  wealth  has 
increased,  the  individual  workers  are  being  re 
duced  to  penury.  It  is  a  pathetic  illustration  of 
Progress  and  Poverty.  The  old  and  highly  re 
spected  class  of  gentlemen  and  scholars  is  being 
depleted.  Scholarship  has  become  so  difficult 
that  those  who  aspire  after  it  have  little  time  for 
the  amenities.  It  is  not  as  it  was  in  the  "  spa 
cious  times  of  great  Elizabeth."  Enter  any  com 
pany  of  modern  scholars  and  ask  what  they  know 
about  any  large  subject,  and  you  will  find  that 
each  one  hastens  to  take  the  poor  debtor's  oath. 
How  can  they  be  expected  to  know  so  much  ? 

On  this  minute  division  of  intellectual  labor 
the  exact  sciences  thrive,  but  conversation, 
poetry,  art,  and  all  that  belongs  to  the  humani 
ties  languish. 

Your  man  of  highly  specialized  intelligence 
has  often  a  morbid  fear  of  half -knowledge,  and 
he  does  not  dare  to  express  an  opinion  that  has 


THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE    165 

not  been  the  result  of  original  research.  He 
shuns  the  innocent  questioners  who  would  draw 
him  out,  as  if  they  were  so  many  dunning  credit 
ors.  He  becomes  a  veritable  Dick  Swiveller  as 
one  conversational  thoroughfare  after  another  is 
closed  against  him,  until  he  no  longer  ventures 
abroad.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  he  has  a  haunt 
ing  apprehension  that  even  the  bit  of  knowledge 
which  he  calls  his  own  may  be  taken  away  from 
him  by  some  new  discovery,  and  he  may  be  cast 
adrift  upon  the  Unknowable. 

It  is  then  that  he  should  remember  the  wisdom 
of  the  unjust  steward,  so  that  when  he  is  cast  out 
of  the  House  of  Knowledge  he  may  find  con 
genial  friends  in  the  habitations  of  Ignorance. 

There  are  a  great  many  mental  activities  that 
stop  short  of  strict  knowledge.  Where  we  do 
not  know,  we  may  imagine,  and  hope,  and  dare  ; 
we  may  laugh  at  our  neighbor's  mistakes,  and 
occasionally  at  our  own.  We  may  enjoy  the 
delicious  moments  of  suspense  when  we  are  on 
the  verge  of  finding  out ;  and  if  it  should  happen 
that  the  discovery  is  postponed,  then  we  have  a 
chance  to  go  over  the  delightful  process  again. 

To  say  *'  I  do  not  know  "  is  not  nearly  as 


166    THE  HONORABLE  POINTS  OF  IGNORANCE 

painful  as  it  seems  to  those  who  have  not  tried 
it.  The  active  mind,  when  the  conceit  of  abso 
lute  knowledge  has  been  destroyed,  quickly  re 
covers  itself  and  cries  out,  after  the  manner  of 
Brer  Rabbit  when  Brer  Fox  threw  him  into  the 
brier  patch,  "  Bred  en  bawn  in  a  brier  patch. 
Brer  Fox  —  bred  en  bawn  in  a  brier  patch  !  " 


'HAT  was  a  clever  device  which  a  writer  of 
"  mere  literature  "  hit  upon  when  he  boldly 
dedicated  his  book  to  a  man  of  prodigious  learn 
ing.  "Who- so  guarded,"  he  says,  "can  suspect 
his  safety  even  when  he  travels  through  the 
Enemy's  Country,  for  such  is  the  vast  field  of 
Learning,  where  the  Learned  (though  not  numer 
ous  enough  to  be  an  Army)  lie  in  small  Parties, 
maliciously  in  Ambush,  to  destroy  all  New  Men 
who  look  into  their  Quarters." 

It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether  in  these  days 
a  lover  of  Ignorance  —  or,  if  you  prefer,  an  igno 
rant  lover  of  good  things  —  could  be  safe  in  the 
enemy's  country,  even  under  the  protection  of 


168      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

such  a  Mr.  Great  Heart.  It  is  no  longer  true 
that  the  Learned  are  not  numerous  enough  to  be 
an  army  and  are  content  with  guerrilla  warfare ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  have  increased  to  multi 
tudes,  and  their  well-disciplined  forces  hold  all 
the  strategic  points.  As  for  those  who  love  to 
read  and  consider,  rather  than  to  enter  into 
minute  researches,  it  is  as  in  the  days  of  Sham- 
gar,  the  son  of  Anoth,  when  "  the  highways  were 
unoccupied  and  the  people  walked  through  by 
ways." 

There  is  one  field,  however,  that  the  Gentle 
Reader  will  not  give  up  without  a  struggle  —  it 
is  that  of  history.  Pie  claims  that  it  belongs  to 
Literature  as  much  as  to  Science.  History  and 
Story  are  variations  of  the  same  word,  and  the 
historian  who  is  master  of  his  art  must  be  a  story 
teller.  Clio  was  not  a  school-mistress,  but  a 
Muse,  and  the  papyrus  roll  in  her  hand  does  not 
contain  mere  dates  and  statistics,  it  is  filled  with 
the  record  of  heroic  adventures.  The  primitive 
form  of  history  was  verbal  tradition,  as  one 
generation  told  the  story  of  the  past  to  the 
generation  that  followed. 

"  There  was  a  great  advantage  in  that  method," 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      169 

says  the  Gentle  Reader,  "the  irrelevant  details 
dropped  out.  It  is  only  the  memorable  things 
that  can  be  remembered.  What  a  pleasant  invi 
tation  that  was  in  the  eighty-first  psalm  to  the 
study  of  Hebrew  History,  in  order  to  learn  what 
had  happened  when  Israel  went  out  through  the 
land  of  Egypt :  — 

'  Take  up  the  psalm  and  bring  hither  the  timbrel, 
The  pleasant  harp  with  the  psaltery, 
Blow  up  the  trumpet  in  the  new  moon, 
And  the  full  moon  on  our  solemn  feast  days.' 

"  The  Jews  had  a  way  of  setting  their  history  to 
music,  and  bringing  in  the  great  events  as  a  glo 
rious  refrain,  which  they  never  feared  repeating 
too  often ;  perhaps  that  is  one  reason  why  their 
history  has  lasted  so  long." 

The  Gentle  Reader's  liking  for  histories  that 
might  be  read  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
"  pleasant  harp  and  psaltery,"  and  which  now 
and  then  stir  him  as  with  the  sound  of  a  trumpet, 
brings  upon  him  many  a  severe  rebuke.  He  is 
told  that  his  favorite  writers  are  frequently  inac 
curate  and  one-sided.  The  true  historian,  he  is 
informed,  is  a  prodigy  of  impartiality,  who  has 
divested  himself  of  all  human  passions,  in  order 


170      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

that  he  may  set  down  in  exact  sequence  the 
course  of  events.  The  Gentle  Reader  turns  to 
these  highly  praised  volumes  and  finds  himself 
adrift,  without  human  companionship,  on  a  bot 
tomless  sea  of  erudition,  —  writings,  writings 
everywhere  and  not  a  page  to  read  !  Returning 
from  this  perilous  excursion;  he  ever  after  ad 
heres  to  his  original  predilection  for  histories 
that  are  readable. 

He  is  of  the  opinion  that  a  history  must  be 
essentially  a  work  of  the  imagination.  This  does 
not  mean  that  it  must  not  be  true,  but  it  means 
that  the  important  truth  about  any  former  gen 
eration  can  only  be  reproduced  through  the  im 
agination.  The  important  thing  is  that  these 
people  were  once  alive.  No  critical  study  of 
their  meagre  memorials  can  make  us  enter  into 
their  joys,  their  griefs,  and  their  fears.  The 
memorials  only  suggest  to  the  historic  imagina 
tion  what  the  reality  must  have  been. 

Peter  Bell  could  recognize  a  fact  when  he  saw 
it:  — 

"  A  primrose  on  the  river's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  more." 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      171 

As  long  as  the  primrose  was  there,  he  could  be 
trusted  to  describe  it  accurately  enough.  But 
set  Peter  Bell  the  task  of  describing  last  year's 
primrose.  "  There  are  n't  any  last  year's  prim 
roses  on  the  river's  brim,"  says  Peter,  "  so  you 
must  be  content  with  a  description  of  the  one  in 
my  herbarium.  Last  year's  primroses,  you  will 
observe,  are  very  much  flattened  out."  To  Mr. 
Peter  Bell,  after  he  has  spent  many  years  in  the 
universities,  a  document  is  a  document,  and  it  is 
nothing  more.  When  he  has  compared  a  great 
many  documents,  a^id  put  them  together  in  a 
mechanical  way,  he  calls  his  work  a  history. 
That 's  where  he  differs  from  the  Gentle  Reader 
who  calls  it  only  the  crude  material  out  of  which 
p  man  of  genius  may  possibly  make  a  history. 

To  the  Gentle  Reader  it  is  a  profoundly  inter 
esting  reflection  that  since  this  planet  has  been 
inhabited  people  have  been  fighting,  and  work 
ing,  and  loving,  and  hating,  with  an  intensity 
born  of  the  conviction  that,  if  they  went  at  it 
hard  enough,  they  could  finish  the  whole  busi 
ness  in  one  generation.  He  likes  to  get  back 
into  any  one  of  these  generations  just  "  to  get 
the  feel  of  it."  He  does  not  care  so  much  for 


172     THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

the  final  summing  up  of  the  process,  as  to  see  it 
in  the  making.  Any  one  who  can  give  him  that 
experience  is  his  friend. 

He  is  interested  in  the  stirring  times  of  the 
English  Revolution,  and  goes  to  the  historical 
expert  to  find  what  it  was  all  about.  The  his 
torical  expert  starts  with  the  Magna  Charta  and 
makes  a  preliminary  survey.  Then  he  begins 
his  march  down  the  centuries,  intrenching  every 
position  lest  he  be  caught  unawares  by  the  critics. 
His  intellectual  forces  lack  mobility,  as  they 
must  wait  for  their  baggage^  trains.  At  last  he 
comes  to  the  time  of  the  Stuarts,  and  there  is 
much  talk  of  the  royal  prerogative,  and  ship 
money,  and  attainders,  and  acts  of  Parliament. 
There  are  exhaustive  arguments,  now  on  the  one 
side  and  now  on  the  other,  which  exactly  balance 
one  another.  There  are  references  to  bulky  vol 
umes,  where  at  the  foot  of  every  page  the  notes 
run  along,  like  little  angry  dogs  barking  at  the 
text. 

The  Gentle  Eeader  calls  out :  "  I  have  had 
enough  of  this.  What  I  want  to  know  is  what 
it  's  all  about,  and  which  side,  on  the  whole,  has 
the  right  of  it.  Which  side  are  you  on  ?  Are  you 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      173 

a  Roundhead  or  a  Cavalier  ?  Are  your  sympathies 
with  the  Whigs  or  the  Tories  ?  " 

"  Sympathies  !  "  says  the  expert.  "Who  ever 
heard  of  a  historian  allowing  himself  to  sympa 
thize  ?  I  have  no  opinions  of  my  own  to  present. 
My  great  aim  is  not  to  prejudice  the  mind  of  the 
student." 

"Nonsense,"  says  the  Gentle  Reader;  "I  am 
not  a  student,  nor  is  this  a  school-room.  It 's  all 
in  confidence ;  speak  out  as  one  gentleman  to 
another  under  a  friendly  roof!  What  do  you 
think  about  it  ?  No  matter  if  you  make  a  mis 
take  or  two,  I  '11  forget  most  that  you  say,  any 
way.  All  that  I  care  for  is  to  get  the  gist  of  the 
matter.  As  for  your  fear  of  warping  my  mind, 
there  's  not  the  least  danger  in  the  world.  My 
mind  is  like  a  tough  bit  of  hickory ;  it  will  fly 
back  into  its  original  shape  the  moment  you  let 
go.  I  have  a  hundred  prejudices  of  my  own, — 
one  more  won't  hurt  me.  I  want  to  know  what 
it  was  that  set  the  people  by  the  ears.  Why  did 
they  cut  off  the  head  of  Charles  I.,  and  why  did 
they  drive  out  James  II.  ?  I  can't  help  thinking 
that  there  must  have  been  something  more  ex 
citing  than  those  discussions  of  yours  about  con- 


174      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

stitutional  theories.  Do  you  know,  I  sometimes 
doubt  whether  most  of  the  people  who  went  to 
the  wars  knew  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  the 
English  Constitution  ;  the  subject  had  n't  been 
written  up  then.  I  suspect  that  something  hap 
pened  that  was  not  set  down  in  your  book ; 
something  that  made  those  people  fighting  mad." 

Then  the  Gentle  Reader  turns  to  his  old  and 
much  criticised  friend  Macaulay,  and  asks,  — 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it  ?  " 

"  Think  about  it !  "  says  Macaulay.  "  I  '11  tell 
you  what  I  think  about  it.  To  begin  with,  that 
Charles  I.,  though  good  enough  as  a  family  man, 
was  a  consummate  liar." 

"  That  's  the  first  light  I  've  had  on  the  sub 
ject,"  says  the  Gentle  Eeader.  "  Charles  lied, 
and  that  made  the  people  mad  ?  " 

"  Precisely  !  I  perceive  that  you  have  the  his 
toric  sense.  We  English  can't  abide  a  liar  ;  so 
at  last  when  we  could  not  trust  the  king's  word 
we  chopped  off  his  head.  Mind  you,  I  'm  not 
defending  the  regicides,  but  between  ourselves  I 
don't  mind  saying  that  I  think  it  served  him 
right.  At  any  rate  our  blood  was  up,  and  there 
was  no  stopping  us.  I  wish  I  had  time  to  tell 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      175 

you  all  about  Hampden,  and  Pym,  and  Crom 
well,  but  I  must  go  on  to  the  glorious  year  1688, 
and  tell  you  how  it  all  came  about,  and  how  we 
sent  that  despicable  dotard,  James,  flying  across 
the  Channel,  and  how  we  brought  in  the  good 
and  wise  King  William,  and  how  the  great  line 
of  Whig  statesmen  began.  I  take  for  granted  — 
as  you  appear  to  be  a  sensible  man  —  that  you 
are  a  Whig  ?  " 

"  I  'm  open  to  conviction,"  says  the  Gentle 
Header. 

In  a  little  while  he  is  in  the  very  thick  of  it. 
He  is  an  Englishman  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
He  has  taken  sides  and  means  to  fight  it  out.  He 

O 

knows  how  to  vote  on  every  important  question 
that  comes  before  Parliament.  No  Jacobite  soph 
istry  can  beguile  him.  When  .William  lands 
he  throws  up  his  hat,  and  after  that  he  stands  by 
him,  thick  or  thin.  When  you  tell  him  that  he 
ought  to  be  more  dispassionate  in  his  historical 
judgments,  he  answers  :  "  That  would  be  all  very 
well  if  we  were  not  dealing  with  living  issues,  — 
but  with  Ireland  in  an  uproar  and  the  Papists 
ready  to  swarm  over  from  France,  there  is  a  call 
for  decision.  A  man  must  know  his  own  mind. 


176      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

You  may  stand  off  and  criticise  William's  policy ; 
but  the  question  is,  What  policy  do  you  propose  ? 
You  say  that  I  have  not  exhausted  the  subject, 
and  that  there  are  other  points  of  view.  Very 
likely.  Show  me  another  point  of  view,  only 
make  it  as  clear  to  me  as  Macaulay  makes  his. 
Let  it  be  a  real  view,  and  not  a  smudge.  Some 
other  day  I  may  look  at  it,  but  I  must  take  one 
thing  at  a  time.  What  I  object  to  is  the  histo 
rian  who  takes  both  sides  in  the  same  paragraph. 
That  is  what  I  call  offensive  bi-partisanship." 

The  Gentle  Reader  is  interested  not  only  in 
what  great  men  actually  were,  but  in  the  way 
they  appeared  to  those  who  loved  or  hated  them. 
He  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  legend  is  often  more 
significant  than  the  colorless  annals.  When  a 
legend  has  become  universally  accepted  and  has 
lived  a  thousand  years,  he  feels  that  it  should  be 
protected  in  its  rights  of  possession  by  some 
statute  of  limitation.  It  has  come  to  have  an 
independent  life  of  its  own.  He  has,  therefore, 
no  sympathy  with  Gibbon  in  his  identification  of 
St.  George  of  England  with  George  of  Cappa- 
docia,  a  dishonest  army  contractor  who  supplied 
the  troops  of  the  Emperor  Julian  with  bacon. 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      177 

Says  Gibbon :  "  His  employment  was  mean  ;  he 
rendered  it  infamous.  He  accumulated  wealth 
by  the  basest  arts  of  fraud  and  corruption  ;  but 
his  malversations  were  so  notorious  that  George 
was  compelled  to  escape  from  the  pursuit  of  his 
enemies.  .  .  .  This  odious  stranger,  disguising 
every  circumstance  of  time  and  place,  assumed 
the  mask  of  a  martyr,  a  saint,  and  a  Christian 
hero  ;  and  the  infamous  George  of  Cappadocia 
has  been  transformed  into  the  renowned  St. 
George  of  England,  the  patron  of  arms,  of 
chivalry,  and  of  the  garter." 

"  That  is  a  serious  indictment,"  says  the  Gentle 
Reader.  "  I  have  no  plea  to  make  for  the  Cap- 
padocian  ;  I  can  readily  believe  that  his  bacon 
was  bad.  But  why  not  let  bygones  be  bygones  ? 
If  he  managed  to  transform  himself  into  a  saint, 
and  for  many  centuries  avoid  all  suspicion,  I  be 
lieve  that  it  was  a  thorough  reformation.  St. 
George  of  England  has  long  been  esteemed  as  a 
valiant  gentleman,  —  and,  at  any  rate,  that  affair 
with  the  dragon  was  greatly  to  his  credit." 

Sometimes  the  Gentle  Reader  is  disturbed  by 
finding  that  different  lines  of  tradition  have  been 
mixed,  and  his  mind  becomes  the  battleground 


178      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

whereon  old  blood  feuds  are  fought  out.  Thus 
it  happens  that  as  a  child  he  was  brought  up  on 
the  tales  of  the  Covenanters  and  imbibed  their 
stern  resentment  against  their  persecutors.  He 
learned  to  hate  the  very  name  of  Graham  of 
Claverhouse  who  brought  desolation  upon  so  many 
innocent  homes.  On  the  other  hand,  his  heart 
beats  high  when  he  hears  the  martial  strains  of 
Bonnie  Dundee.  "  There  was  a  man  for  you  ! " 

"  Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street, 
The  bells  are  rung  backward,  the  drums  they  are  beat. 


'  Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks  — 
Ere  I  own  a  usurper,  I  '11  couch  with  the  fox ! 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and  me  !  ' 


He  waved  his  proud  hand,  and  the  trumpets  were  blown, 
The  kettle-drums  clashed,  and  the  horsemen  rode  on, 
Till  on  Ravelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermeston's  lee 
Died  away  the  wild  war  notes  of  Bonnie  Dundee." 

"  When  I  see  him  wave  his  proud  hand,"  says 
the  Gentle  Header,  "  I  am  his  clansman,  and  I  'm 
ready  to  be  off  with  him." 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  Whig,"  says  the  stu 
dent  of  history. 

"  I  thought  so  too,  —  but  what 's  politics  where 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE     179 

the  affections  are  enlisted?  Don't  you  hear 
those  wild  war  notes  ?  " 

"  But  are  you  aware  that  the  Bonnie  Dundee 
is  the  same  man  whom  you  have  just  been  de 
nouncing  under  the  name  of  Graham  of  Claver- 
house  ?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  they  are  the  same  ?  "  sighs  the 
Gentle  Reader.  "  I  cannot  make  them  seem  the 
same.  To  me  there  are  two  of  them  :  Graham 
of  Claverhouse,  whom  I  hate,  and  the  Bonnie 
Dundee,  whom  I  love.  If  it 's  all  the  same  to 
you,  I  think  I  shall  keep  them  separate  and  go 
on  loving  and  hating  as  aforetime." 

But  though  the  Gentle  Reader  has  the  defects 
of  his  qualities  and  is  sometimes  led  astray  by  his 
sympathies,  do  not  think  that  he  is  altogether 
lacking  in  solidity  of  judgment.  He  has  a  genu 
ine  love  of  truth  and  finds  it  more  interesting 
than  fiction  —  when  it  is  well  written.  If  he 
objects  to  the  elimination  of  myth  and  fable  it  is 
because  he  is  profoundly  interested  in  the  history 
of  human  feeling.  The  story  that  is  the  embodi 
ment  of  an  emotion  is  itself  of  the  greatest  sig 
nificance.  In  Shelley's  Prometheus  Unbound^ 


180      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

before  Jupiter  himself  is  revealed,  the  Phantasm 
of  Jupiter  appears  and  speaks.  Prometheus 
addresses  him  :  — 

•      "  Tremendous  Image,  as  thou  art  must  be 
He  whom  thou  shadowest  forth." 

On  the  stage  of  history  each  great  personage  has 
a  phantasmal  counterpart ;  sometimes  there  are 
many  of  them.  Each  phantasm  becomes  a  centre 
of  love  and  hate. 

The  cold-blooded  historian  gives  us  what  he 
calls  the  real  Napoleon.  He  is,  he  asserts,  nei 
ther  the  Corsican  Ogre  of  the  British  imagina 
tion  nor  the  Heroic  Emperor  for  whom  myriads 
of  Frenchmen  gladly  died.  Perhaps  not;  but 
when  the  Napoleonic  legend  has  been  banished, 
what  about  the  Napoleonic  wars?  The  Phan 
tasms  of  Napoleon  appear  on  every  battlefield. 
The  men  of  that  day  saw  them,  and  were  nerved 
to  the  conflict.  The  reader  must,  now  and  then, 
see  them,  or  he  can  have  no  conception  of  what 
was  going  on.  He  misses  "  the  moving  why  they 
did  it."  And  as  for  the  real  Napoleon,  what  was 
the  magic  by  which  he  was  able  to  call  such 
phantasms  from  the  vasty  deep  ? 

The  careful  historian  who  would  trace  the  his- 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      181 

tory  of  Europe  in  the  centuries  that  followed  the 
barbarian  invasion  is  sorely  troubled  by  the  in 
trusion  of  legendary  elements.  After  purging 
his  work  of  all  that  savors  of  romance,  he  has  a 
very  neat  and  connected  narrative. 

"  But  is  it  true  ?  "  asks  the  Gentle  Reader.  « I 
for  one  do  not  believe  it.  The  course  of  true 
history  never  did  run  so  smooth.  Here  is  a 
worthy  person  who  undertakes  to  furnish  me 
with  an  idea  of  the  Dark  Ages,  and  he  forgets 
the  principal  fact,  which  is  that  it  was  dark. 
His  picture  has  all  the  sharp  outlines  of  a  noon 
day  street  scene.  I  don't  believe  he  ever  spent 
a  night  alone  in  a  haunted  house.  If  he  had  he 
would  have  known  that  if  you  don't  see  ghosts, 
you  see  shapes  that  look  like  them.  At  midnight 
mysterious  forms  loom  large.  The  historian 
must  have  a  genius  for  depicting  Chaos.  He 
must  make  me  dimly  perceive  '  the  fragments  of 
forgotten  peoples,'  with  their  superstitions,  their 
formless  fears,  their  vague  desires.  They  were 
all  fighting  them  in  the  dark. 

"  '  For  friend  and  foe  were  shadows  in  the  mist, 

And  friend  slew  friend  not  knowing  whom  he  slew ; 
And  some  had  visions  out  of  golden  youth, 


182      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

And  some  beheld  the  faces  of  old  ghosts 

Look  in  upon  the  battle ;  and  in  the  mist 

Was  many  a  noble  deed,  many  a  base 

And  chance  and  craft  and  strength  in  single  fights, 

And  ever  and  anon  with  host  to  host 

Shocks,  and  the  splintering  spear,  the  hard  mail  hewn, 

Shield-breakings,  and  the  clash  of  brands,  the  crash 

Of  battle  axes  on  shattered  helms,  and  shrieks 

After  the  Christ,  of  those  who  falling  down 

Looked  up  for  heaven  and  only  saw  the  mist.'  " 

"  But,  Gentle  Reader,"  says  the  Historian, 
44  that  is  poetry,  not  history." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  but  it 's  what  really  happened." 

He  is  of  the  opinion  that  many  histories  owe 
their  quality  of  unreadableness  to  the  virtues  of 
their  authors.  The  kind-hearted  historians  over 
load  their  works  through  their  desire  to  rescue  as 
many  events  and  persons  as  possible  from  obliv 
ion.  When  their  better  judgment  tells  them 
that  they  should  be  off,  they  remain  to  drag  in 
one  more.  Alas,  their  good  intention  defeats 
itself  ;  their  frail  craft  cannot  bear  the  added 
burden,  and  all  hands  go  to  the  bottom.  There 
is  no  surer  oblivion  than  that  which  awaits  one 
whose  name  is  recorded  in  a  book  that  undertakes 
to  tell  all. 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      183 

The  trouble  with  facts  is  that  there  are  so  many 
of  them.  Here  are  millions  of  happenings  every 
day.  Each  one  has  its  infinite  series  of  antecedents 
and  consequents ;  and  each  takes  longer  in  the 
telling  than  in  the  doing.  Evidently  there  must 
be  some  principle  of  selection.  Naturalists  with 
a  taste  for  mathematics  tell  us  of  the  appalling 
catastrophe  which  would  impend  if  every  codfish 
were  to  reach  maturity.  It  would  be  equaled  by 
the  state  of  things  which  would  exist  were  every 
incident  duly  chronicled.  A  foretaste  of  this 
calamity  has  been  given  in  our  recent  war,  —  and 
yet  there  were  some  of  our  military  men  who  did 
not  write  reminiscences. 

What  the  principle  of  selection  shall  be  depends 
upon  the  predominant  interest  of  the  writer. 
But  there  must  be  a  clear  sequence  ;  one  can  re 
late  only  what  is  related  to  the  chosen  theme. 
The  historian  must  reverse  the  order  of  natural 
evolution  and  proceed  from  the  heterogeneous  to 
the  homogeneous.  Alas  for  the  ill-fated  pundit 
who,  forgetting  his  aim,  flounders  in  the  bottom 
less  morass  of  heterogeneity.  The  moment  he 
begins  to  tell  how  things  are  he  remembers  some 
incongruous  incident  which  proves  that  they  were 


184      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

quite  otherwise.  The  genius  for  narrative  con« 
sists  in  the  ability  to  pick  out  the  facts  which 
belong  together  and  which  help  each  other  along. 
The  company  must  keep  step,  and  the  stragglers 
must  be  mercilessly  cut  off.  One  cannot  say  of 
any  fact  that  it  is  important  in  itself.  The  im 
portant  thing  is  that  which  has  a  direct  bearing 
on  the  subject.  The  definition  of  dirt  as  matter 
in  the  wrong  place  is  suggestive.  All  the  details 
that  throw  light  on  the  main  action  are  of  value. 
Those  that  obscure  it  are  but  petty  dust.  It  is 
no  sufficient  plea  that  the  dust  is  very  real  and 
that  it  took  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  collect 
it. 

As  vivid  a  bit  of  history  as  one  may  read  is  the 
Journal  of  Sally  Wister,  a  Quaker  girl  who  lived 
near  Philadelphia  during  the  period  of  the  Ameri 
can  Kevolution.  She  gives  a  narrative  of  the 
things  which  happened  to  her  during  those  fate 
ful  years.  In  October,  1777,  she  says,  "  Here,  my 
dear,  passes  an  interval  of  several  weeks  in  which 
nothing  happened  worth  the  time  and  paper  it 
would  take  to  write  it." 

The  editor  is  troubled  at  this  remark,  because 
during  that  very  week  the  Battle  of  Germantown 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE     185 

had  been  fought  not  far  away.  But  Sally  Wister 
had  the  true  historical  genius.  The  Battle  of 
Germantown  was  an  event,  and  so  was  the  coming 
of  a  number  of  gay  young  officers  to  the  hospitable 
country  house ;  and  this  latter  event  was  much 
more  important  to  Sally  Wister.  So  omitting  all 
irrelevant  incidents,  she  gives  a  circumstantial 
account  of  what  was  happening  on  the  centre  of 
the  stage. 

"  Cousin  Prissa  and  myself  were  sitting  at  the 
door ;  I  in  my  green  skirt,  dark  gown,  etc.  Two 
genteel  men  of  the  military  order  rode  up  to  the 
door.  *  Your  servant,  ladies,'  etc.  Asked  if  they 
could  have  quarters  for  General  Smallwood." 

"  I  can  see  just  how  they  did  it,"  says  the 
Gentle  Reader,  "and  what  a  commotion  the 
visit  made.  Now  when  a  person  who  is  just  as 
much  absorbed  in  the  progress  of  the  Revolution 
ary  War  as  Sally  Wister  was  in  those  young 
officers  writes  about  it  I  will  read  his  history 
gladly. " 

Some  otherwise  excellent  histories  fall  into  the 
abyss  of  unreadableness  because  of  the  author's 
unnecessary  pains  to  justify  his  heroes  to  the 


186      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

critical  intelligence  of  the  reader.  He  is  con 
tinually  making  apologies  when  he  should  be  tell< 
ing  a  story.  He  is  comparing  the  deeds  of  one 
age  with  the  ethical  standards  of  another ;  and 
the  result  is  a  series  of  moral  anachronisms. 
There  is  a  running  fire  of  more  or  less  irrelevant 
comment. 

What  a  delightful  plan  that  was,  which  the 
author  of  the  Book  of  Judges  hit  upon  to 
avoid  this  difficulty !  He  had  a  hard  task.  His 
worthies  were  not  persons  of  settled  habits,  and 
they  did  many  things  that  might  appear  shocking 
to  later  generations.  They  were  called  upon  to 
do  rough  work  and  they  did  it  in  their  own  way. 
If  the  author  had  undertaken  to  justify  their  con 
duct  by  any  conventional  standard  he  would  have 
made  sorry  work  of  it.  What  he  did  was  much 
better  than  that.  Whenever  he  came  to  a  point 
where  there  was  danger  of  the  mind  of  the  reader 
becoming  turbid  with  moral  reflections  that  be 
longed  to  a  later  age,  he  threw  in  the  clarifying 
suggestion,  "  And  there  was  no  King  in  Israel, 
and  every  man  did  what  was  right  in  his  own 
eyes."  This  precipitated  all  the  disturbing  ele 
ments,  and  the  story  ran  on  swift  and  clear.  It 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE     18? 

was  as  if  when  the  reader  was  about  to  protest  the 
author  anticipated  him  with,  "  What  would  you 
do,  reader,  if  the  Philistines  were  upon  you  and 
there  were  no  King  in  Israel  ?  "  Undoubtedly 
under  such  circumstances  it  would  be  a  great 
relief  to  catch  sight  of  Gideon  or  Samson.  It 
would  not  be  a  time  for  fastidiousness  about 
their  shortcomings ;  they  would  be  hailed  as 
strong  deliverers. 

"  That  is  just  the  point  of  it,"  cries  the  Gentle 
Reader.  "  They  were  on  our  side.  The  important 
thing  is  to  recognize  our  friends.  To  teach  us 
who  our  friends  are  is  the  purpose  of  history. 
Here  is  a  conflict  that  has  been  going  on  for 
ages.  The  men  who  have  done  valiant  service 
are  not  all  smooth-spoken  gentlemen  in  black 
coats  —  but  what  of  it  ?  They  have  done  what 
they  could.  We  can't  say  that  each  act  was 
absolutely  right,  but  they  were  moving  in  the 
right  direction.  When  a  choice  was  offered  they 
took  the  better  part.  The  historian  should  not 
only  know  what  they  did,  but  what  was  the  alter 
native  offered  them.  There  was  the  Prophet 
Samuel.  Some  persons  will  have  no  further 
respect  for  him  after  they  learn  that  he  hewed 


188      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

Agag  in  pieces  before  the  Lord.  They  think  he 
ought  to  have  stood  up  for  Free  Religion.  They 
take  for  granted  that  the  alternative  offered  him 
was  religious  toleration  as  we  understand  it.  It 
was  nothing  of  the  sort.  The  question  for  a  man 
of  that  age  was,  Shall  Samuel  hew  Agag  in  pieces, 
or  shall  Agag  hew  Samuel  in  pieces,  and  my 
sympathies  are  with  Samuel." 

Having  once  made  allowance  for  the  differ» 
ences  of  time  and  place,  he  follows  with  eager 
interest  the  fortunes  of  the  men  who  have  made 
the  world  what  it  is.  What  if  they  do  have  their 
faults  ?  He  does  not  care  for  what  he  calls  New 
England  Primer  style  of  History  :  — 

"  Young  Obadias,  David,  Josias 
All  were  pious." 

Such  monotony  of  excellence  wearies  him,  and 
the  garment  of  praise  is  accompanied  by  a  spirit 
of  heaviness. 

"  I  like  saints  best  in  the  state  of  nature,"  he 
says;  "  the  process  of  canonization  does  not  seem 
good  for  them.  When  too  many  of  them  are 
placed  together  in  a  book  their  virtues  kill  one 
another,  and  at  a  little  distance  all  halos  look 
very  much  alike." 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE     189 

There  are  certain  histories  which  he  finds  read 
able,  not  because  he  cares  very  much  for  their 
ostensible  subject,  but  because  of  the  light  they 
throw  on  the  author's  personality.  He,  good 
man,  thinks  he  is  telling  the  story  of  the  Carlo- 
vingian  Dynasty,  or  the  rise  of  the  Phoenician  sea 
power,  while  in  reality  he  is  giving  an  intimate 
account  of  his  own  state  of  mind.  The  author  is 
like  a  bee  which  wanders  far  afield  and  visits 
many  flowers,  but  always  brings  back  the  spoil 
to  one  hollow  tree.  The  Gentle  Reader,  like  a 
practiced  bee  hunter,  is  careless  of  the  outward 
journeys,  but  watches  closely  the  direction  of  the 
return  flight. 

"If  you  would  know  a  person's  limitations,"  he 
says,  "  induce  him  to  write  on  some  large  subject 
like  the  History  of  Civilization,  or  the  History  of 
the  Origin  and  Growth  of  the  Moral  Sentiment. 
You  will  find  his  particular  hobby  writ  large." 

He  takes  up  a  History  of  the  Semites.  "  What 
a  pertinacious  fellow  he  is,"  alluding  not  to  any 
ancient  Semite  but  to  the  Author,  "  how  closely 
he  sticks  to  his  point !  He  has  discovered  a  new 
fact  about  the  Amalekites,  —  I  wonder  what  he 
will  do  with  it.  Just  as  I  expected  !  there  he  is 


190      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

back  with  it  to  that  controversy  he  is  having  with 
his  Presbytery.  I  notice  that  he  calls  the  chil 
dren  of  Israel  the  Beni-Israel.  He  knows  that 
that  sort  of  thing  irritates  the  conservative  party. 
It  suggests  that  he  is  following  Kenan,  and  yet  it 
may  only  prove  that  he  thinks  in  Hebrew." 

The  Gentle  Reader  regards  ambitious  works 
on  the  Philosophy  of  History  with  mingled  sus 
picion  and  curiosity.  So  much  depends,  in  such 
cases,  upon  the  philosopher.  In  spite  of  many 
misadventures,  curiosity  generally  gets  the  better 
of  caution. 

He  opens  Comte's  "  Positive  Philosophy  "  and 
reads,  "'In  order  to  understand  the  true  value 
and  character  of  the  '  Positive  Philosophy '  we 
must  take  a  brief,  general  view  of  the  progres 
sive  course  of  the  human  mind  regarded  as  a 
whole."  Then  he  is  conducted  through  the  three 
stages  of  the  theological  or  fictitious,  the  meta 
physical  or  abstract,  and  the  scientific  or  posi 
tive  ;  which  last  circle  proves  large  enough  only 
for  Comte's  own  opinions.  He  is  caught  in  a 
trap  and  goes  round  and  round  without  finding 
the  hole  through  which  he  came  in. 


THAT  HISTORY    SHOULD  BE  READABLE     191 

"  When  a  learned  person  asks  one,"  says  the 
Gentle  Reader,  "to  accompany  him  on  a  brief 
general  survey  of  the  progressive  course  of  the 
human  mind,  regarded  as  a  whole,  I  am  apt  to 
be  wary.  I  want  to  know  what  he  is  up  to.  I 
fear  the  philosopher  bearing  historical  gifts." 

Yet  where  the  trap  is  made  of  slighter  fabric, 
and  he  feels  that  he  can  break  through  at  will,  he 
enjoys  watching  the  author  and  his  work.  How 
marvelous  are  the  powers  of  the  human  mind ! 
How  the  facts  of  experience  can  be  bent  to  a 
sternly  logical  formula!  And  how  the  whole 
trend  of  things  seems  to  yield  to  an  imperious 
will  that  is  stronger  than  fate ! 

Here  is  a  book  published  in  Wheeling,  Virginia, 
in  1809.  It  is  "  A  Narrative  of  the  Introduction 
and  Progress  of  Christianity  in  Scotland,  before 
the  Reformation ;  and  the  Progress  of  Religion 
since  in  Scotland  and  America."  We  are  told 
that  the  history  was  read  paragraph  by  paragraph 
at  a  meeting  of  the  Reformed  Dissenting  Pres 
bytery  at  the  Three  Ridge  Meeting  House,  and 
unanimously  approved.  At  the  beginning  we  are 
taken  into  a  wide  place  and  given  a  comprehen 
sive  view  of  early  Christianity.  Then  we  are 


192      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

shown  how  in  the  sixteenth  century  began  a  series 
of  godly  reformations.  Christianity,  bursting 
through  the  barriers  of  Popery,  began  its  resistless 
flow  toward  the  pure  theology  of  the  Three  Ridge 
Meeting  House.  As  the  articles  of  the  true  faith 
were  increased  the  number  of  persons  who  were 
able  to  hold  correct  opinions  upon  them  all  dimin 
ished.  The  history,  by  perfectly  logical  pro 
cesses,  brings  us  down  to  the  year  1799,  when 
secession  had  done  its  perfect  work  and  the  true 
church  had  attained  to  an  apostolic  purity  of  doc 
trine  and  a  more  than  apostolic  paucity  of  mem 
bership.  It  is  with  a  fearful  joy  that  the 
historians  proclaim  the  culmination  of  the  age 
long  evolution.  "O!  the  times  we  live  in  !  There 
were  but  two  of  us  to  defend  the  doctrine  of  the 
Bible  and  the  Westminster  Confession."  At  the 
time  the  history  of  the  Progress  of  Christianity 
was  written  there  were  but  two  ministers  who  held 
the  uncorrupted  faith  ;  namely,  Robert  Warwick 
and  Alexander  McCoy.  These  two  brethren  were 
the  joint  authors  of  the  history,  and  in  their 
capacity  as  church  council  gave  it  ecumenical 
authority.  Had  McCoy  disagreed  with  Warwick 
about  Preterition,  or  had  Warwick  suspected 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      193 

McCoy  of  Sublapsarianism,  then  we  should  have 
had  two  histories  of  Christianity  instead  of  one. 
It  would  have  appeared  that  all  the  previous  de 
velopments  of  Christianity  were  significant  only 
as  preparing  for  the  Great  Schism. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  this  Three  Ridge 
Meeting  House  kind  of  history,"  says  the  Gentle 
Reader,  "  and  I  confess  I  find  it  very  instructive. 
I  like  to  find  out  what  the  writers  think  on  the 
questions  of  the  day." 

The  fact  is  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  human 
nature  even  in  learned  people,  and  they  cannot 
escape  from  the  spell  of  the  present  moment. 
They  are  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  feel  that  they  are 
living  at  the  terminus  of  the  road  and  not  at  a 
way  station.  The  cynical  reflection  on  the  way 
in  which  the  decisions  of  the  Supreme  Court  fol 
low  the  election  returns  suggests  the  way  in  which 
historical  generalizations  follow  the  latest  tele 
graphic  dispatches.  Something  happens  and  then 
we  look  up  its  historical  antecedents.  It  seems 
as  if  everything  had  been  pointing  to  this  one 
event  from  the  beginning. 

"Here  is  a  very  readable  History  of  Fans. 
The  writer  justly  says  that  the  subject  is  one  that 


194      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

has  been  much  neglected.  'In  England  brief 
sketches  on  the  subject  have  occasionally  ap 
peared  in  the  magazines,  but  thus  far  a  History 
of  Fans  has  not  been  published  in  book  form. 
.  .  .  The  subject  amply  repays  careful  study,  and 
will  not  fail  to  interest  the  reader,  provided  the 
demands  on  both  his  patience  and  his  time  are 
not  too  great.'  I  confess  that  it  is  a  line  of  re 
search  I  have  never  taken  up,  but  it  is  evident 
that  there  is  ample  material.  The  beginning  in 
spires  confidence.  '  The  chain  of  tradition,  fol 
lowed  as  far  as  possible  into  the  past,  carries  us 
but  to  the  time  when  the  origin  of  the  fan  is  de 
rived  from  tradition.'  It  appears  that  we  come 
out  upon  firm  ground  when  we  reach  the  Maha- 
bharata.  But  the  question  which  arouses  my 
curiosity  is,  How  did  it  occur  to  any  one  that 
there  should  be  a  history  of  fans  ?  The  author 
reveals  the  inciting  cause,  — 6  The  Loan  Exhibi 
tion  held  at  South  Kensington  in  1870  gave  a 
great  impulse  to  the  collection  and  decoration  of 
fans.'  I  suspect  that  almost  all  readable  histories 
have  some  such  origin." 

The  title  of  Professor  Freeman's  "  History  of 
Federal  Government  from  the  Foundation  of  the 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      195 

Achaian  League  to  the  Disruption  of  the  United 
States  "  was  timely  when  the  first  volume  was 
published  in  1863.  The  terminal  points  seemed 
closely  connected  in  1862  and  the  spring  of  1863. 
Gettysburg  and  Appomattox  destroyed  the  line 
of  communication.  But  there  was  a  time  when 
the  subject  had  great  dramatic  unity. 

One  May  morning  the  Gentle  Reader  saw  in 
the  newspapers  the  account  of  the  victory  of 
Admiral  Dewey  at  Manila,  and  learned  how  the 
English  people  rejoiced  over  the  success  of 
American  arms.  "  This  will  remake  a  great  deal 
of  history,"  he  said,  "  and  there  will  be  a  great 
revival  of  interest  in  Hengist  and  Horsa.  These 
primitive  Anglo-Saxon  expansionists  kept  their 
own  counsel,  but  it 's  evident  that  the  movement 
they  set  on  foot  must  go  on  to  its  logical  conclu 
sion.  When  a  competent  scholar  takes  hold  of 
the  history  it  will  be  seen  that  it  could  n't  stop 
with  the  Heptarchy  or  the  destruction  of  the  Span 
ish  Armada.  It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that 
these  Anglo-Saxons  would  eventually  take  the 
Philippines." 

When  one  by  one  the  books  began  to  come  out 
he  read  them  with  eager  interest.  That  there 


196      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

should  be  histories  of  the  triumphant  progress  of 
Anglo-Saxondom,  after  the  Spanish-American 
war,  he  looked  upon  as  something  as  inevitable 
as  the  history  of  fans,  after  the  South  Kensington 
Exhibition.  It  was  manifest  destiny. 

There  is  one  page  in  the  history  books  which 
the  Gentle  Reader  looks  upon  with  a  skeptical 
smile  ;  it  is  that  which  contains  the  words,  "  The 
End." 

"  The  writer  may  think  that  the  subject  has 
been  exhausted,  and  that  he  has  said  the  last 
word  ;  but  in  reality  there  is  no  end." 

He  is  well  aware  that  at  best  he  gets  but  a 
glimpse  of  what  is  going  on.  The  makers  of 
history  are  for  the  most  part  unknown  to  the 
writers  of  it.  He  loves  now  and  then  to  catch 
sight  of  one  of  these  unremembered  multitudes. 
For  a  moment  the  searchlight  of  history  falls 
upon  him,  and  he  stands  blinking  in  the  unaccus 
tomed  glare,  and  then  the  light  shifts  and  obliv 
ion  swallows  him  up. 

He  stops  to  meditate  when  he  comes  upon  this 
paragraph  in  Bishop  Burnet's  "  History  of  his 
Own  Times." 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE     197 

"  When  King  James  I.  was  in  Scotland  he 
erected  a  new  Bishopric,  and  made  one  Forbes 
Bishop.  He  was  a  very  learned  and  pious  man ; 
he  had  a  strange  faculty  of  preaching  five  or  six 
hours  at  a  time.  His  way  of  life  and  devotion 
was  thought  monastic,  and  his  learning  lay  in 
antiquity  ;  he  studied  to  be  a  reconciler  between 
Papists  and  Protestants,  leaning  rather  to  the  first ; 
he  was  a  simple-hearted  man  and  knew  little  of 
the  world,  so  he  fell  into  several  errors  of  conduct, 
but  died  soon  after  suspected  of  Popery." 

"  That  man  Forbes,"  says  the  Gentle  Reader, 
"  does  n't  cut  much  of  a  figure  on  the  pages  of 
history.  Indeed,  that  is  all  that  is  said  of  him,  yet 
I  doubt  not  but  that  he  was  a  much  more  influen 
tial  man  in  his  day  than  many  of  those  bishops 
and  reformers  that  I  have  been  reading  about. 
A  learned  man  who  has  a  faculty  for  preaching 
five  or  six  hours  at  a  time  is  a  great  conservative 
force.  He  keeps  things  from  going  too  fast. 
When  one  reads  about  the  Reformation  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  one  wonders  that  it  did  n't 
make  a  clean  sweep.  We  must  remember  the 
number  of  good  Protestants  who  died  suspected 
of  Popery." 


198      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

But  though  he  loves  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Forbes 
and  men  of  his  kind,  he  knows  that  they  are  not 
of  the  stuff  that  readable  histories  are  made  of. 
The  retarding  influences  of  the  times  must  be 
taken  into  account,  but  after  all  the  historian  is 
concerned  with  the  people  who  are  "  in  the  van 
of  circumstance."  They  may  be  few  in  number, 
but  their  achievements  are  the  things  worth  tell 
ing. 

"  Every  history,"  says  the  Gentle  Reader, 
"  should  be  a  Book  of  Genesis.  I  want  to  see 
things  in  their  beginnings  and  in  their  fresh 
growth.  I  do  not  care  to  follow  the  processes  of 
decay.  Fortunately  there  is  no  period  when 
something  is  not  beginning.  4  Sweet  is  the  gene 
sis  of  things.'  History  is  a  perpetual  spring 
time.  New  movements  are  always  on  foot.  Even 
when  I  don't  approve  of  them  I  want  to  know 
what  they  are  like.  When  the  band  strikes  up 
4  See  the  Conquering  Hero  come,'  it 's  sheer  affec 
tation  not  to  look  up.  The  conquering  hero  is 
always  worth  looking  at,  even  if  you  do  not 
approve  of  him.  The  historian  who  undertakes 
to  tell  what  men  at  any  period  were  about  must 
be  quick  to  detect  their  real  enthusiasms.  He 


THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE      199 

must  join  the  victorious  army  and  not  cling  to  a 
lost  cause.  I  have  always  thought  that  it  was  a 
mistake  for  Gibbon  to  call  his  great  work,  '  The 
History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire.'  The  declining  power  of  the  Roman 
Empire  was  not  the  great  fact  of  those,  ten  cen 
turies.  There  were  powers  which  were  not  de-- 
clining,  but  growing.  How  many  things  were  in 
the  making,  —  Christianity,  Moha,mmedanism,  the 
new  chivalry,  the  Germanic  civilization.  As  for 
the  Roman  Empire,  one  could  see  that  that  game 
was  lost,  and  it  was  n't  worth  while  to  play  it  out 
to  the  last  move.  I  could  n't  make  those  shadowy 
Emperors  at  Constantinople  seem  like  Caesars  — 
and,  for  that  matter,  they  were  n't." 

On  this  last  point  I  think  that  the  Gentle 
Reader  is  correct,  and  that  the  great  historian  is 
one  who  has  a  certain  prophetic  gift.  He  is 
quick  to  discern  the  signs  of  the  times.  He 
identifies  himself  so  thoroughly  with  the  age  of 
which  he  writes  that  he  always  seems  to  be  at 
the  beginning  of  an  era  peering  into  the  yet  dim 
future.  In  this  way  he  shares  the  hopes  and 
aspirations  of  the  men  of  whom  he  writes.  For 
there  was  a  day  when  all  our  familiar  institu- 


200      THAT  HISTORY  SHOULD  BE  READABLE 

tions  were  new.  There  was  a  time  when  the 
Papacy  was  not  an  established  fact,  but  a  vague 
dream  of  spiritual  power  and  unity,  a  challenge 
to  a  barbarian  world.  It  appealed  to  young 
idealists  as  the  federation  of  the  world  or  a 
socialistic  commonwealth  appeals  to-day.  There 
was  a  time  when  constitutional  government  was 
a  Utopian  experiment  which  a  few  brave  men 
were  willing  to  try.  There  was  a  time  when 
Calvinism  was  a  spiritual  adventure. 

The  historian  whom  we  love  is  one  who  stands 
at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and  sees  ideals  grow 
into  actualities.  He  is  not  reminiscent.  He  is 
forward-looking  as  he  speaks  to  each  age  out  of 
intimate  acquaintance  with  its  new  hopes,  as  one 

"  Who  hath  forsaken  old  and  sacred  thrones 
For  prophecies  of  thee,  and  for  the  sake 
Of  loveliness  new  born." 


faftro  4 


is  your  favorite  character,  Gentle 
Reader ? "  "I  like  to  read  about  gen 
tlemen,"  he  answers  ;  "  it 's  a  taste  I  have  inher 
ited,  and  I  find  it  growing  upon  me." 

And  yet  it  is  not  easy  to  define  a  gentleman,  as 
the  multitudes  who  have  made  the  attempt  can 
testify.  It  is  one  of  the  cases  in  which  the  diction 
ary  does  not  help  one.  Perhaps,  after  all,  defi 
nitions  are  to  be  looked  upon  as  luxuries,  not  as 
necessities.  When  Alice  told  her  name  to  Humpty 
Dumpty,  that  intolerable  pedant  asked,  — 

"  4  What  does  it  mean  ? ' 

"  '  Must  a  name  mean  something  ?  '  Alice 
asked  doubtfully. 

"  '  Of  course  it  must,'  Humpty  Dumpty  said 


202       THE  EVOLUTION  OF   THE  GENTLEMAN 

with  a  short  langh.  '  My  name  means  the  shape 
I  am,  —  and  a  good  handsome  shape  it  is,  too.'  v 

I  suppose  that  almost  any  man,  if  he  were  asked 
what  a  gentleman  is,  would  answer  with  Humpty 
Dumpty,  "  It  is  the  shape  I  am."  I  judge  this 
because,  though  the  average  man  would  not  feel 
insulted  if  you  were  to  say,  "  You  are  no  saint," 
it  would  not  be  safe  to  say,  "  You  are  no  gentle 
man." 

And  yet  the  average  man  has  his  misgivings. 
For  all  his  confident  talk,  he  is  very  humble 
minded.  The  astral  body  of  the  gentleman  that 
he  is  endeavoring  to  project  at  his  neighbors  is 
not  sufficiently  materialized  for  his  own  imperfect 
vision.  The  word  "  gentleman  "  represents  an 
ideal.  Above  whatever  coarseness  and  sordid- 
ness  there  may  be  in  actual  life,  there  rises  the 
ideal  of  a  finer  kind  of  man,  with  gentler  man 
ners  and  truer  speech  and  braver  action. 

In  every  age  we  shall  find  the  true  gentleman 
—  that  is,  the  man  who  represents  the  best  ideal 
of  his  own  time,  and  we  shall  find  the  mimicry 
of  him  the  would-be  gentleman  who  copies  the 
form  while  ignorant  of  the  substance.  These 
two  characters  furnish  the  material,  on  the  one 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       203 

hand  for  the  romancer,  and  on  the  other  for  the 
satirist.  If  there  had  been  no  real  gentlemen, 
the  epics,  the  solemn  tragedies,  and  the  stirring 
tales  of  chivalry  would  have  remained  unwritten  ; 
and  if  there  had  been  no  pretended  gentlemen, 
the  humorist  would  have  lost  many  a  pleasure. 
Always  the  contrasted  characters  are  on  the  stage 
together  ;  simple  dignity  is  followed  by  strutting 
pomposity,  and  after  the  hero  the  braggart  swag 
gers  and  storms.  So  ridicule  and  admiration 
bear  rule  by  turns. 

The  idea  of  the  gentleman  involves  the  sense  of 
personal  dignity  and  worth.  He  is  not  a  means 
to  an  end ;  he  is  an  end  in  itself.  How  early 
this  sense  arose  we  may  not  know.  Professor 
Huxley  made  merry  over  the  sentimentalists  who 
picture  the  simple  dignity  of  primitive  man.  He 
had  no  admiration  to  throw  away  on  "  the  digni 
fied  and  unclothed  savage  sitting  in  solitary  medi 
tation  under  trees."  And  yet  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  the  gentleman  must  have  appeared 
sven  before  the  advent  of  tailors.  The  peasants 
who  followed  Wat  Tyler  sang,  — 

"  When  Adam  delved  and  Eve  span 
Who  was  then  the  gentleman  ?  " 


204       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

But  a  writer  in  the  age  of  Queen  Elizabeth  pub 
lished  a  book  in  which  he  argued  that  Adam 
himself  was  a  perfect  gentleman.  He  had  the 
advantage,  dear  to  the  theological  mind,  that 
though  affirmative  proof  might  be  lacking,  it  was 
equally  difficult  to  prove  the  negative. 

As  civilization  advances  and  literature  catches 
its  changing  features,  the  outlines  of  the  gentle 
man  grow  distinct. 

In  the  Book  of  Genesis  we  see  Abraham  sitting 
at  his  tent  door.  Three  strangers  appear.  When 
he  sees  them,  he  goes  to  meet  them,  and  bows, 
and  says  to  the  foremost,  "  My  Lord,  if  now  I 
have  found  favour  in  thy  sight,  pass  not  away,  I 
pray  thee,  from  thy  servant.  Let  a  little  water, 
I  pray  you,  be  fetched,  and  wash  your  feet,  and 
rest  yourselves  under  the  tree :  and  I  will  fetch 
a  morsel  of  bread,  and  comfort  ye  your  hearts ; 
after  that  ye  shall  pass  on." 

There  may  have  been  giants  in  those  days,  and 
churls,  and  all  manner  of  barbarians,  but  as  we 
watch  the  strangers  resting  under  the  oak  we  say, 
"There  were  also  gentlemen  in  those  days."  How 
simple  it  all  is !  It  is  like  a  single  palm  tree  out 
lined  against  the  desert  and  the  sky. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       205 

We  turn  to  the  Analects  of  Confucius  and  we 
see  the  Chinese  gentleman.  Everything  with  him 
is  exact.  The  disciples  of  Confucius  are  careful 
to  tell  us  how  he  adjusted  the  skirts  of  his  robe 
before  and  behind,  how  he  insisted  that  his 
mince-meat  should  be  cut  quite  small  and  should 
have  exactly  the  right  proportion  of  rice,  and 
that  his  mat  must  be  laid  straight  before  he 
would  sit  on  it.  Such  details  of  deportment 
were  thought  very  important.  But  we  forget 
the  mats  and  the  mince-meat  when  we  read : 
"  Three  things  the  master  had  not,  —  he  had  no 
prejudices,  he  had  no  obstinacy,  he  had  no 
egotism."  And  we  forget  the  fantastic  garb 
and  the  stiff  Chinese  genuflections,  and  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  true  gentleman  is  as  sim 
ple-hearted  amid  the  etiquette  of  the  court  as  in 
the  tent  in  the  desert,  when  we  hear  the  master 
saying :  "  Sincerity  is  the  way  of  Heaven  ;  the 
wise  are  the  unassuming.  It  is  said  of  Virtue 
that  over  her  embroidered  robe  she  puts  a  plain 
single  garment." 

When  we  wish  to  see  a  masculine  virtue  which 
has  no  need  of  an  embroidered  garment  we  go  to 
Plutarch's  portrait  gallery  of  antique  gentlemen. 


206       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

What  a  breed  of  men  they  were  !  They  were  no 
holiday  gentlemen.  With  the  same  lofty  dignity 
they  faced  life  and  death.  How  superior  they 
were  to  their  fortunes.  No  wonder  that  men  who 
had  learned  to  conquer  themselves  conquered  the 
world. 

Most  of  Plutarch's  worthies  were  gentlemen, 
though  there  were  exceptions.  There  was,  for 
example,  Cato  the  Censor,  who  bullied  the  Roman 
youth  into  virtue,  and  got  a  statue  erected  to  him 
self  as  the  restorer  of  the  good  old  manners. 
Poor  Plutarch,  who  likes  to  do  well  by  his  heroes, 
is  put  to  his  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do  with 
testy,  patriotic,  honest,  fearless,  parsimonious 
Cato.  Cato  was  undoubtedly  a  great  man  and  a 
good  citizen ;  but  when  we  are  told  how  he  sold 
his  old  slaves,  at  a  bargain,  when  they  became  in 
firm,  and  how  he  left  his  war-horse  in  Spain  to 
save  the  cost  of  transportation,  Plutarch  adds, 
"  Whether  such  things  be  an  evidence  of  great 
ness  or  littleness  of  soul  let  the  reader  judge  for 
himself."  The  judicious  reader  will  conclude 
that  it  is  possible  to  be  a  great  man  and  a  re 
former,  and  yet  not  be  quite  a  gentleman. 

When  the  Roman  Empire  was  destroyed  the 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       207 

antique  type  of  gentleman  perished,  The  very 
names  of  the  tribes  which  destroyed  him  have  yet 
terrible  associations.  Goths,  Vandals,  Huns  —  to 
the  civilized  man  of  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries 
these  sounded  like  the  names  of  wild  beasts  rather 
than  of  men.  You  might  as  well  have  said  tigers, 
hyenas,  wolves.  The  end  had  come  of  a  civiliza 
tion  that  had  been  the  slow  growth  of  centuries. 
Yet  out  of  these  fierce  tribes,  destroyers  of  the 
old  order,  a  new  order  was  to  arise.  Out  of  chaos 
and  night  a  new  kind  of  gentleman  was  to  be 
evolved.  The  romances  of  the  Middle  Ages  are 
variations  on  a  single  theme,  the  appearance  of 
the  finer  type  of  manhood  and  its  struggle  for 
existence.  In  the  palace  built  by  the  enchant 
ment  of  Merlin  were  four  zones  of  sculpture. 

"  And  in  the  lowest  beasts  are  slaying-  men, 
And  in  the  second  men  are  slaying  beasts, 
And  on  the  third  are  warriors,  perfect  men, 
And  on  the  fourth  are  men  with  growing-  wings." 

Europe  was  in  the  second  stage,  when  men  were 
slaying  beasts  and  what  was  most  brutal  in  hu 
manity.  If  the  higher  manhood  was  to  live,  it 
must  fight,  and  so  the  gentleman  appears,  sword 
in  hand.  Whether  we  are  reading  of  Charle* 


208       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

magne  and  his  paladins,  or  of  Siegfried,  or  of 
Arthur,  the  story  is  the  same.  The  gentleman 
has  appeared.  He  has  come  into  a  waste  land, 

"  Thick  with  wet  woods  and  many  a  beast  therein, 
And  none  or  few  to  scare  or  chase  the  beast." 

He  comes  amid  savage  anarchy  where  heathen 
hordes  are  "  reddening  the  sun  with  smoke  and 
earth  with  blood."  The  gentleman  sends  forth 
his  clear  defiance.  All  this  shall  no  longer  be. 
He  is  ready  to  meet  force  with  force  ;  he  is  ready 
to  stake  his  life  upon  the  issue,  the  hazard  of  new 
fortunes  for  the  race. 

It  is  as  a  pioneer  of  the  new  civilization  that 
the  gentleman  has  pitched 

"  His  tent  beside  the  forest.     And  he  drave 
The  heathen,  and  he  slew  the  beast,  and  felled 
The  forest,  and  let  in  the  sun." 

The  ballads  and  romances  chronicle  a  struggle 
desperate  in  its  beginning  and  triumphant  in  its 
conclusion.  They  are  in  praise  of  force,  but  it 
is  a  noble  force.  There  is  something  better,  they 
say,  than  brute  force :  it  is  manly  force.  The 
giant  is  no  match  for  the  gentleman. 

If  we  would  get  at  the  mediaeval  idea  of  the 
gentleman,  we  must  not  listen  merely  to  the 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       209 

romances  as  they  are  retold  by  men  of  genius  in 
our  own  day.  Scott  and  Tennyson  clothe  their 
characters  in  the  old  draperies,  but  their  ideals 
are  those  of  the  nineteenth  century  rather  than  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  Tennyson  expressly  disclaims 
the  attempt  to  reproduce  the  King  Arthur 

"  whose  name,  a  ghost, 

Streams  like  a  cloud,  man-shaped,  from  mountain  peak, 
And  cleaves  to  cairn  and  cromlech  still ;  or  him 
Of  Geoffrey's  book,  or  him  of  Malleor's,  one 
Touched  by  the  adulterous  finger  of  a  time 
That  hovered  between  war  and  wantonness." 

When  we  go  back  and  read  Sir  Thomas  Malory's 
Morte  Darthur,  we  find  ourselves  among  men  of 
somewhat  different  mould  from  the  knights  of 
Tennyson's  idylls.  It  is  not  the  blameless  King 
Arthur,  but  the  passionate  Sir  Launcelot,  who 
wins  admiration.  We  hear  Sir  Ector  crying  over 
Launcelot's  body,  "  Ah,  Launcelot,  thou  wert  the 
head  of  the  Christian  knights.  Thou  wert  the 
courtliest  knight  that  ever  bare  shield  ;  and  thou 
wert  the  truest  friend  to  thy  lover  that  ever  be 
strode  horse  ;  and  thou  wert  the  truest  lover  for 
a  sinful  man  that  ever  loved  woman  ;  and  thou 
wert  the  kindest  man  that  ever  strake  with  sword  ; 
and  thou  wert  the  goodliest  person  that  ever  came 


210      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

among  press  of  knights  ;  and  thou  wert  the  meek 
est  man  and  the  gentlest  that  ever  ate  in  hall  with 
ladies ;  and  thou  wert  the  sternest  knight  to  thy 
mortal  foe  that  ever  put  spear  in  the  rest." 

We  must  take,  not  one  of  these  qualities,  but 
all  of  them  together,  to  understand  the  gentleman 
of  those  ages  when  good  and  evil  struggled  so 
fiercely  for  the  mastery.  No  saint  was  this  Sir 
Launcelot.  There  was  in  him  no  fine  balance  of 
virtues,  but  only  a  wild  tumult  of  the  blood.  He 
was  proud,  self-willed,  passionate,  pleasure-loving ; 
capable  of  great  sin  and  of  sublime  expiation. 
What  shall  we  say  of  this  gentlest,  sternest,  kind 
est,  goodliest,  sinf ulest  of  knights,  —  this  man 
who  knew  no  middle  path,  but  who,  when  tread 
ing  in  perilous  places  and  following  false  lights, 
yet  draws  all  men  admiringly  to  himself  ? 

We  can  only  say  this  :  he  was  the  prototype  of 
those  mighty  men  who  were  the  makers  of  the 
modern  world.  They  were  the  men  who  fought 
with  Charlemagne,  and  with  William  the  Con 
queror,  and  with  Richard  ;  they  were  the  men 
who  "  beat  down  the  heathen,  and  upheld  the 
Christ ; "  they  were  the  men  from  whom  came 
the  crusades,  and  the  feudal  system,  and  the 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       211 

great  charter.  As  we  read  the  history,  we  say 
at  one  moment,  "  These  men  were  mail-clad 
ruffians,"  and  at  the  next,  "  What  great-hearted 
gentlemen !  " 

Perhaps  the  wisest  thing  would  be  to  confess 
to  both  judgments  at  once.  In  this  stage  of  his 
evolution  the  gentleman  may  boast  of  feats  that 
would  now  be  rehearsed  only  in  bar-rooms.  This 
indicates  that  the  standard  of  society  has  im 
proved,  and  that  what  was  possible  once  for  the 
nobler  sort  of  men  is  now  characteristic  of  the 
baser  sort.  The  modern  rowdy  frequently  ap 
pears  in  the  cast-off  manners  of  the  old-time 
gentleman.  Time,  the  old-clothes  man,  thus  fur 
nishes  his  customers  with  many  strange  misfits. 
What  is  of  importance  is  that  through  these 
transition  years  there  was  a  ceaseless  struggle  to 
preserve  the  finer  types  of  manhood. 

The  ideal  of  the  mediaeval  gentleman  was 
expressed  in  the  word  "  gallantry."  The  essence 
of  gallantry  is  courage ;  but  it  is  not  the  sober 
courage  of  the  stoic.  It  is  courage  charged  with 
qualities  that  give  it  sparkle  and  effervescence. 
It  is  the  courage  that  not  only  faces  danger,  but 
delights  in  it.  What  suggestions  of  physical  and 


212      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

mental  elasticity  are  in  Shakespeare's  description 
of  the  "  springing,  brave  Plantagenet "  !  Scott's 
lines  express  the  gallant  spirit :  — 

"  One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 
Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name." 

Gallantry  came  to  have  another  implication, 
equally  characteristic.  The  knight  was  gallant 
not  only  in  war,  but  in  love  also.  There  had 
come  a  new  worship,  the  worship  of  woman.  In 
the  Church  it  found  expression  in  the  adoration 
of  the  Madonna,  but  in  the  camp  and  the  court 
it  found  its  place  as  well.  Chivalry  was  the 
elaborate  and  often  fantastic  ritual,  and  the  gen 
tleman  was  minister  at  the  altar.  The  ancient 
gentleman  stood  alone  ;  the  mediaeval  gentleman 
offered  all  to  the  lady  of  his  love.  Here,  too, 
gallantry  implied  the  same  overflowing  joy  in 
life.  If  you  are  anxious  to  have  a  test  by  which 
to  recognize  the  time  when  you  are  growing 
old,  —  so  old  that  imagination  is  chilled  within 
you,  —  I  should  advise  you  to  turn  to  the  chapter 
in  the  Romance  of  King  Arthur  entitled  "  How 
Queen  Guenever  went  maying  with  certain 
Knights  of  the  Table  Round,  clad  all  in  green." 
Then  read :  "  So  it  befell  in  the  month  of  May, 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       213 

Queen  Guenever  called  unto  her  knights  and  she 
gave  them  warning  that  early  upon  the  morrow 
she  would  ride  rnaying  into  the  woods  and  fields 
besides  Westminster,  and  I  warn  you  that  none 
of  you  but  that  he  be  well  horsed  and  that  ye  all 
be  clothed  in  green.  ...  I  shall  bring  with  me 
ten  ladies  and  every  knight  shall  have  a  squire 
and  two  yeomen.  So  upon  the  morn  they  took 
their  horses  with  the  Queen  and  rode  on  maying 
through  the  woods  and  meadows  in  great  joy  and 
delights." 

If  you  cannot  see  them  riding  on,  a  gallant 
company  over  the  meadows,  and  if  you  hear  no 
echoes  of  their  laughter,  and  if  there  is  no  longer 
any  enchantment  in  the  vision  of  that  time  when 
all  were  "blithe  and  debonair,"  then  undoubtedly 
you  are  growing  old.  It  is  time  to  close  the  ro 
mances:  perhaps  you  may  still  find  solace  in 
Young's  "  Night  Thoughts  "  or  Pollok's  "  Course 
of  Time."  Happy  are  they  who  far  into  the  sev 
enties  still  see  Queen  Guenever  riding  in  the  plea 
sant  month  of  May :  these  are  they  who  have 
found  the  true  fountain  of  youth. 

The  gentleman  militant  will  always  be  the  hero 
of  ballads  and  romances ;  and  in  spite  of  the 


214  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 
apostles  of  realism,  I  fancy  he  has  not  lost  his 
charm.  There  are  Jeremiahs  of  evolution,  who 
tell  us  that  after  a  time  men  will  be  so  highly 
developed  as  to  have  neither  hair  nor  teeth.  In 
that  day,  when  the  operating  dentists  have  ceased 
from  troubling,  and  given  way  to  the  manufac 
turing  dentists,  and  the  barbers  have  been  super 
seded  by  the  wig-makers,  it  is  quite  possible  that 
the  romances  may  give  place  to  some  tedious 
department  of  comparative  mythology.  In  that 
day,  Chaucer's  knight  who  "  loved  chevalrie, 
trouthe  and  honour,  fredom  and  curtesie,"  will 
be  forgotten,  though  his  armor  on  the  museum 
walls  will  be  learnedly  described.  But  that 
dreadful  day  is  still  far  distant ;  before  it  comes, 
not  only  teeth  and  hair  must  be  improved  out  of 
existence,  but  a  substitute  must  be  found  for 
good  red  blood.  Till  that  time  "  no  laggard  in 
love  or  dastard  in  war  "  can  steal  our  hearts  from 
young  Lochinvar. 

The  sixteenth  century  marks  an  epoch  in  the 
history  of  the  gentleman,  as  in  all  else.  Old 
ideas  disappear,  to  come  again  in  new  combina 
tions.  Familiar  words  take  on  meanings  that 
completely  transform  them.  The  same  hands 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       215 

wielded  the  sword  and  the  pen.  The  scholars, 
the  artists,  the  poets,  began  to  feel  a  sense  of 
personal  worth,  and  carried  the  gallant  spirit  of 
the  gentleman  into  their  work.  They  were  not 
mere  specialists,  but  men  of  action.  The  artist 
was  not  only  an  instrument  to  give  pleasure  to 
others,  but  he  was  himself  a  centre  of  admira 
tion.  Out  of  this  new  consciousness  how  many 
interesting  characters  were  produced  !  There 
were  men  who  engaged  in  controversies  as  if 
they  were  tournaments,  and  who  wrote  books 
and  painted  pictures  and  carved  statues,  not  in 
the  spirit  of  professionalism,  but  as  those  who 
would  in  this  activity  enjoy  "  one  crowded  hour 
of  glorious  life."  Very  frequently,  these  gentle 
men  and  scholars,  and  gentlemen  and  artists, 
overdid  the  matter,  and  were  more  belligerent  in 
disposition  than  were  the  warriors  with  whom 
they  began  to  claim  equality. 

To  this  self-assertion  we  owe  the  most  delightful 
of  autobiographies,  —  that  of  Benvenuto  Cellini. 
He  aspired  to  be  not  only  an  artist,  but  a  fine 
gentleman.  No  one  could  be  more  certain  of  the 
sufficiency  of  Humpty  Dumpty's  definition  of  a 
gentleman  than  was  he. 


216       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

If  we  did  not  have  his  word  for  it,  we  could 
scarcely  believe  that  any  one  could  be  so  valiant 
in  fight  and  so  uninterrupted  in  the  pursuit  of 
honor  without  its  interfering  with  his  professional 
work.  Take,  for  example,  that  memorable  day 
when,  escaping  from  the  magistrates,  he  makes 
an  attack  upon  the  household  of  his  enemy, 
Gherardo  Guascanti.  "  I  found  them  at  table ; 
and  Gherardo,  who  had  been  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel,  flung  himself  upon  me.  I  stabbed  him 
in  the  breast,  piercing  doublet  and  jerkin,  but 
doing  him  not  the  least  harm  in  the  world." 
After  this  attack,  and  after  magnanimously  par 
doning  Gherardo's  father,  mother,  and  sisters,  he 
says :  "  I  ran  storming  down  the  staircase,  and 
when  I  reached  the  street,  I  found  all  the  rest  of 
the  household,  more  than  twelve  persons  :  one  of 
them  seized  an  iron  shovel,  another  a  thick  iron 
pipe ;  one  had  an  anvil,  some  hammers,  some 
cudgels.  When  I  got  among  them,  raging  like 
a  mad  bull,  I  flung  four  or  five  to  the  earth,  and 
fell  down  with  them  myself,  continually  aiming 
my  dagger  now  at  one,  and  now  at  another. 
Those  who  remained  upright  plied  with  both 
hands  with  all  their  force,  giving  it  me  with  ham- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       217 

mers,  cudgels,  and  the  anvil ;  but  inasmuch  as 
God  does  sometimes  mercifully  intervene,  he  so 
ordered  that  neither  they  nor  I  did  any  harm  to 
one  another." 

What  fine  old  days  those  were,  when  the  tough 
ness  of  skin  matched  so  wonderfully  the  stoutness 
of  heart !  One  has  a  suspicion  that  in  these  de 
generate  times,  were  a  family  dinner-party  inter 
rupted  by  such  an  avalanche  of  daggers,  cudgels, 
and  anvils,  some  one  would  be  hurt.  As  for 
Benvenuto,  he  does  not  so  much  as  complain  of  a 
headache. 

There  is  an  easy,  gentleman-like  grace  in  the 
way  in  which  he  recounts  his  incidental  homicides. 
When  he  is  hiding  behind  a  hedge  at  midnight, 
waiting  for  the  opportunity  to  assassinate  his 
enemies,  his  heart  is  open  to  all  the  sweet  influ 
ences  of  nature,  and  he  enjoys  "the  glorious 
heaven  of  stars."  He  was  not  only  an  artist  and 
a  fine  gentleman,  but  a  saint  as  well,  and  "  often 
had  recourse  with  pious  heart  to  holy  prayers." 
Above  all,  he  had  the  indubitable  evidence  of 
sainthood,  a  halo.  "I  will  not  omit  to  relate 
another  circumstance,  which  is  perhaps  the  most 
remarkable  that  ever  happened  to  any  one.  I  do 


218       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

so  in  order  to  justify  the  divinity  of  God  and  of 
his  secrets,  who  deigned  to  grant  me  this  great 
favor :  forever  since  the  time  of  my  strange  vision 
until  now,  an  aureole  of  glory  (marvelous  to  re 
late)  has  rested  on  my  head.  This  is  visible  to 
every  sort  of  man  to  whom  I  have  chosen  to  point 
it  out,  but  these  have  been  few."  He  adds  ingen 
uously,  "  I  am  always  able  to  see  it."  He  says, 
"  I  first  became  aware  of  it  in  France,  at  Paris ; 
for  the  air  in  those  parts  is  so  much  freer  from 
mists  that  one  can  see  it  far  better  than  in  Italy." 
Happy  Benvenuto  with  his  Parisian  halo, 
which  did  not  interfere  with  the  manly  arts  of 
self-defense  !  His  self-complacency  was  possible 
only  in  a  stage  of  evolution  when  the  saint  and 
the  assassin  were  not  altogether  clearly  differen 
tiated.  Some  one  has  said,  "  Give  me  the  luxu 
ries  of  life,  and  I  can  get  along  without  the 
necessities."  Like  many  of  his  time,  Benvenuto 
had  all  the  luxuries  that  belong  to  the  character 
of  a  Christian  gentleman,  though  he  was  destitute 
of  the  necessities.  An  appreciation  of  common 
honesty  as  an  essential  to  a  gentleman  seems  to 
be  more  slowly  developed  than  the  more  romantic- 
sentiment  that  is  called  honor. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       219 

The  evolution  of  the  gentleman  has  its  main 
line  of  progress  where  there  is  a  constant  though 
slow  advance ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are 
arrested  developments,  and  quaint  survivals,  and 
abortive  attempts. 

In  each  generation  there  have  been  men  of 
fashion  who  have  mistaken  themselves  for  gentle 
men.  They  are  uninteresting  enough  while  in 
the  flesh,  but  after  a  generation  or  two  they  be 
come  very  quaint  and  curious,  when  considered 
as  specimens.  Each  generation  imagines  that  it 
has  discovered  a  new  variety,  and  invents  a  name 
for  it.  The  dude,  the  swell,  the  dandy,  the  fop, 
the  spark,  the  macaroni,  the  blade,  the  popinjay, 
the  coxcomb,  —  these  are  butterflies  of  different 
summers.  There  is  here  endless  variation,  but 
no  advancement.  One  fashion  comes  after  an 
other,  but  we  cannot  call  it  better.  One  would 
like  to  see  representatives  of  the  different  gen 
erations  together  in  full  dress.  What  variety  in 
oaths  and  small  talk  !  What  anachronisms 
in  swords  and  canes  and  eye-glasses,  in  ruffles, 
in  collars,  in  wigs !  What  affluence  in  pow 
ders  and  perfumes  and  colors  !  But  "  will  they 
know  each  other  there  "  ?  The  real  gentlemen 


220      THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

would  be  sure  to  recognize  each  other.  Abraham 
and  Marcus  Aurelius  and  Confucius  would  find 
much  in  common.  Launcelot  and  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  and  Chinese  Gordon  would  need  no  in 
troduction.  Montaigne  and  Mr.  Spectator  and 
the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table  would  fall 
into  delightful  chat.  But  would  a  "  swell " 
recognize  a  "  spark "  ?  And  might  we  not  ex 
pect  a  "  dude  "  to  fall  into  immoderate  laughter 
at  the  sight  of  a  "  popinjay  "  ? 

Fashion  has  its  revenges.  Nothing  seems  so 
ridiculous  to  it  as  an  old  fashion.  The  fop  has 
no  toleration  for  the  obsolete  foppery.  The 
artificial  gentleman  is  as  inconceivable  out  of  his 
artificial  surroundings  as  the  waxen-faced  gen 
tleman  of  the  clothing  store  outside  his  show 
window. 

There  was  Beau  Nash,  for  example,  —  a  much- 
admired  person  in  his  day,  when  he  ruled  from 
his  throne  in  the  pump-room  in  Bath.  Every 
thing  was  in  keeping.  There  was  Queen  Anne 
architecture,  and  Queen  Anne  furniture,  and 
Queen  Anne  religion,  and  the  Queen  Anne  fash 
ion  in  fine  gentlemen.  What  a  curious  piece  of 
bricabrac  this  fine  gentleman  was,  to  be  sure  I 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       221 

He  was  not  fitted  for  any  useful  purpose  under 
the  sun,  but  in  his  place  he  was  quite  ornamental, 
and  undoubtedly  very  expensive.  Art  was  as 
self-complacent  as  if  nature  had  never  been  in 
vented.  What  multitudes  of  the  baser  sort  must 
be  employed  in  furnishing  the  fine  gentleman 
with  clothes !  All  Bath  admired  the  way  in 
which  Beau  Nash  refused  to  pay  for  them.  Once 
when  a  vulgar  tradesman  insisted  on  payment, 
Nash  compromised  by  lending  him  twenty  pounds, 
—  which  he  did  with  the  air  of  a  prince.  So 
great  was  the  impression  he  made  upon  his  time 
that  a  statue  was  erected  to  him,  while  beneath 
were  placed  the  busts  of  two  minor  contempora 
ries,  Pope  and  Newton.  This  led  Lord  Chester 
field  to  write :  — 

"  This  statue  placed  the  busts  between 
Adds  to  the  satire  strength, 
Wisdom  and  wit  are  little  seen, 
But  folly  at  full  length." 

Lord  Chesterfield  himself  had  nothing  in 
common  with  the  absurd  imitation  gentlemen, 
and  yet  the  gentleman  whom  he  described  and 
pretended  to  admire  was  altogether  artificial. 
He  was  the  Machiavelli  of  the  fashionable  world. 


222       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

He  saw  through  it,  and  recognized  its  hollow- 
ness  ;  but  such  as  it  was  it  must  be  accepted. 
The  only  thing  was  to  learn  how  to  get  on  in 
it.  "  In  courts  you  may  expect  to  meet  connec 
tions  without  friendships,  enmities  without  ha 
tred,  honor  without  virtue,  appearances  saved 
and  realities  sacrificed,  good  manners  and  bad 
morals." 

There  is  something  earnestly  didactic  about 
Lord  Chesterfield.  He  gives  line  upon  line,  and 
precept  upon  precept,  to  his  "  dear  boy."  Never 
did  a  Puritan  father  teach  more  conscientiously 
the  shorter  catechism  than  did  he  the  whole  duty 
of  the  gentleman,  which  was  to  save  appearances 
even  though  he  must  sacrifice  reality.  "  My 
dear  boy,"  he  writes  affectionately,  "  I  advise 
you  to  trust  neither  man  nor  woman  more  than 
is  absolutely  necessary.  Accept  proffered  friend 
ships  with  great  civility,  but  with  great  incre 
dulity." 

No  youth  was  more  strenuously  prodded  up  the 
steep  and  narrow  path  of  virtue  than  was  little 
Philip  Stanhope  up  the  steep  and  narrow  path 
of  fashion.  Worldliness  made  into  a  religion 
was  not  without  its  asceticism.  "Though  you 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       223 

think  you  dance  well,  do  not  think  you  dance 
well  enough.  Though  you  are  told  that  you  are 
genteel,  still  aim  at  being  genteeler.  .  .  .  Airs, 
address,  manners,  graces,  are  of  such  infinite 
importance  and  are  so  essentially  necessary  to 
you  that  now,  as  the  time  of  meeting  draws  near, 
I  tremble  for  fear  that  I  may  not  find  you  pos 
sessed  of  them." 

Lord  Chesterfield's  gentleman  was  a  man  of 
the  world ;  but  it  was,  after  all,  a  very  hard  and 
empty  world.  It  was  a  world  that  had  no  eternal 
laws,  only  changing  fashions.  It  had  no  broken 
hearts,  only  broken  vows.  It  was  a  world  cov 
ered  with  glittering  ice,  and  the  gentleman  was 
one  who  had  learned  to  skim  over  its  dangerous 
places,  not  caring  what  happened  to  those  who 
followed  him. 

It  is  a  relief  to  get  away  from  such  a  world, 
and,  leaving  the  fine  gentleman  behind,  to  take 
the  rumbling  stagecoach  to  the  estates  of  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley,  His  is  not  the  great  world 
at  all,  and  his  interests  are  limited  to  his  own 
parish.  But  it  is  a  real  world,  and  much  better 
suited  to  a  real  gentleman.  His  fashions  are 
not  the  fashions  of  the  court,  but  they  are  the 


224       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

fashions  that  wear.  Even  when  following  the 
hounds  Sir  Koger  has  time  for  friendly  greetings. 
"  The  farmers'  sons  thought  themselves  happy  if 
they  could  open  a  gate  for  the  good  old  knight, 
which  he  requited  with  a  nod  or  a  smile,  and  a 
kind  inquiry  after  their  fathers  and  uncles." 

But  even  dear  old  Roger  de  Coverley  cannot 
rest  undisturbed  as  an  ideal  gentleman.  He  be 
longed,  after  all,  to  a  privileged  order,  and  there 
is  a  force  at  work  to  destroy  all  social  privileges. 
A  generation  of  farmers'  sons  must  arise  not  to 
be  so  easily  satisfied  with  a  kindly  nod  and  smile. 
Liberty,  fraternity,  and  equality  have  to  be  reck 
oned  with.  Democracy  has  come  with  its  level 
ing  processes. 

"  The  calm  Olympian  height 
Of  ancient  order  feels  its  bases  yield." 

In  a  revolutionary  period  the  virtues  of  an  aris 
tocracy  become  more  irritating  than  their  vices. 
People  cease  to  attribute  merit  to  what  comes 
through  good  fortune.  No  wonder  that  the  disci 
ples  of  the  older  time  cry :  — 

"  What  hope  for  the  fine-nerved  humanities 
That  made  earth  gracious  once  with  gentler  arts  ?  " 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN       225 

What  becomes  of  the  gentleman  in  an  age  of 
democratic  equality  ?  Just  what  becomes  of 
every  ideal  when  the  time  for  its  fulfillment  has 
come.  It  is  freed  from  its  limitations  and  enters 
into  a  larger  life. 

Let  us  remember  that  the  gentleman  was 
always  a  lover  of  equality,  and  of  the  graces  that 
can  only  grow  in  the  society  of  equals.  The 
gentleman  of  an  aristocracy  is  at  his  best  only 
when  he  is  among  his  peers.  There  is  a  little 
circle  within  which  there  is  no  pushing,  no  as 
sumption  of  superiority.  Each  member  seeks 
not  his  own,  but  finds  pleasure  in  a  gracious 
interchange  of  services. 

But  an  aristocracy  leaves  only  a  restricted 
sphere  for  such  good  manners.  Outside  the 
group  to  which  he  belongs  the  gentleman  is 
compelled  by  imperious  custom  to  play  the  part 
of  a  superior  being.  It  has  always  been  distaste 
ful  and  humiliating  to  him.  It  is  only  an  essen 
tially  vulgar  nature  that  can  really  be  pleased 
with  the  servility  of  others. 

An  ideal  democracy  is  a  society  in  which  good 
manners  are  universal.  There  is  no  arrogance 
and  no  cringing,  but  social  intercourse  is  based 


226       THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN 

on  mutual  respect.  This  ideal  democracy  has 
not  been  perfected,  but  the  type  of  men  who  are 
creating  it  has  already  been  evolved.  Among 
all  the  crude  and  sordid  elements  of  modern  life, 
we  see  the  stirring  of  a  new  chivalry.  It  is  based 
on  a  recognition  of  the  worth  and  dignity  of  the 
common  man. 

Milton  in  memorable  words  points  out  the 
transition  which  must  take  place  from  the  gentle 
man  of  romance  to  the  gentleman  of  enduring 
reality.  After  narrating  how,  in  his  youth,  he 
betook  himself  "to  those  lofty  fables  and  ro 
mances  which  recount  in  solemn  cantos  the  deeds 
of  knighthood  founded  by  our  victorious  kings 
and  thence  had  in  renown  through  all  Christen 
dom,"  he  says,  "  This  my  mind  gave  me  that 
every  free  and  gentle  spirit,  without  that  oath 
ought  to  be  born  a  knight,  nor  needed  to  expect 
a  gilt  spur  or  the  laying  on  of  a  sword  upon  hiss 
shoulder." 


^L  GENIAL  critic  detects  a  note  of  exaggera- 
CM  V  tion  in  my  praise  of  Ignorance.  It  is,  he 
declares,  a  bit  of  "Yellow  Journalism."  The 
reader's  attention  is  attracted  by  a  glaring  head 
line  which  leads  him  to  suppose  that  a  crime  has 
been  committed,  when  in  reality  nothing  out  of 
the  ordinary  has  happened.  That  a  person  who 
has  emerged  from  the  state  of  absolute  illiteracy 
far  enough  to  appear  in  print  should  express  a 
preference  for  Ignorance  would  be  important  if 
true.  After  perusing  the  chapter,  however,  he 
is  of  the  opinion  that  it  is  not  Ignorance,  at  all, 
that  is  described,  but  something  much  more  re 
spectable.  It  is  akin  to  a  state  of  mind  which 
literary  persons  have  agreed  to  praise  under  the 
name  of  Culture. 


228  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

It  is  very  natural  that  these  literary  persons 
should  prefer  a  high-sounding  name,  and  one 
free  from  vulgar  associations,  but  I  do  not  think 
that  their  plea  will  stand  the  test  of  scientific 
analysis.  Science  will  not  tolerate  half  know 
ledge  nor  pleasant  imaginings,  nor  sympathetic 
appreciations  ;  it  must  have  definite  demonstra 
tion.  The  knowledge  of  the  best  that  has  been 
said  and  thought  may  be  very  consoling,  but  it 
implies  an  unscientific  principle  of  selection.  It 
can  be  proved  by  statistics  that  the  best  things 
are  exceptional.  What  about  the  second  best, 
not  to  speak  of  the  tenth  rate  ?  It  is  only  when 
you  have  collected  a  vast  number  of  commonplace 
facts  that  you  are  on  the  road  to  a  true  generali 
zation. 

In  the  Smithsonian  Institution  at  Washington 
there  is  a  children's  room,  in  which  there  is  a 
case  marked  "Pretty  Shells."  The  specimens 
fully  justify  the  inscription.  The  very  daintiest 
shapes,  and  the  most  intricate  convolutions,  and 
the  most  delicate  tints  are  represented.  They 
are  pretty  shells,  which  have  not  left  their  beauty 
on  the  shore.  But  the  delight  in  all  this  loveli 
ness  is  not  scientific.  The  kind  gentleman  who 


THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE  229 

arranged  the  shells  according  to  this  classification 
acted  not  in  his  capacity  as  a  conchologist,  but 
as  the  father  of  a  family. 

Nor  does  the  enjoyment  of  the  most  beautiful 
thoughts  or  words  satisfy  the  requirements  of 
those  sciences  which  deal  with  humanity.  The 
distinction  between  Literature  and  Science  is 
fundamental.  What  is  a  virtue  in  one  sphere  is 
a  vice  in  the  other.  After  all  that  has  been  said 
about  the  scientific  use  of  the  imagination  it  re 
mains  true  that  the  imagination  is  an  intruder  in 
the  laboratory.  Even  if  it  were  put  to  use,  that 
would  only  mean  that  it  is  reduced  to  a  condition 
of  slavery.  In  its  own  realm  it  is  accustomed 
to  play  rather  than  to  work.  It  is  also  true  that 
the  attempts  to  introduce  the  methods  of  the  labo 
ratory  into  literature  have  been  dismal  failures. 
That  way  dullness  lies. 

Now  and  then,  indeed,  Nature  in  a  fit  of  pro 
digality  endows  one  person  with  both  gifts.  — 
Was  not  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  a  Professor  of 
Anatomy  ?  In  such  a  case  there  is  a  perpetual 
effervescence.  But  even  Dr.  Holmes  could  not 
insinuate  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  Anatomy  by 
means  of  a  series  of  discursive  essays ;  nor  could 


230  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

he  give  scientific  value  to  the  reflections  of  the 
"  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table." 

There  was  a  time  when  the  ability  to  read  was 
such  a  rare  accomplishment  that  it  seemed  to 
furnish  the  key  to  all  knowledge.  Men  of  the 
baser  sort  had  to  learn  by  experience,  but  the 
reader  followed  a  royal  path  to  the  very  fountain 
head  of  wisdom.  Ordinary  rules  were  not  for 
him  ;  he  could  claim  the  benefit  of  clergy.  Only 
a  generation  ago  young  men  of  parts  prepared 
themselves  for  the  bar  —  and  very  good  lawyers 
they  made  —  by  "  reading  Blackstone."  Black- 
stone  is  a  pleasant  author,  with  a  fund  of  wise 
observations,  and  many  pleasant  afternoons  were 
spent  in  his  company.  In  like  manner  other 
young  men  "  read  medicine." 

It  is  now  coining  to  be  understood  that  one 
cannot  read  a  science  ;  it  must  be  studied  in  quite 
a  different  fashion.  "  Book-learning  "  in  such 
matters  has  been  discredited. 

The  Gentle  Keader  has  learned  this  lesson.  It 
may  be  that  he  has  cultivated  some  tiny  field  of 
his  own,  and  has  thus  come  to  know  how  different 
this  laborious  task  is  from  the  care-free  wander 
ing  in  which  at  other  hours  he  delights.  But 


THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE  231 

though  he  cannot  read  his  way  into  the  domains 
of  strict  science,  yet  there  is  an  adjacent  territory 
which  he  frequents.  Into  this  territory,  though 
he  holds  an  ambiguous  position,  and  finds  many 
to  molest  and  make  him  afraid,  he  is  drawn  by 
an  insatiable  curiosity.  In  a  border-land  danger 
has  attractions  and  mystery  is  alluring.  There 
is  pleasant  reading  in  spite  of  many  threatening 
technicalities  which  seem  to  bar  further  progress. 
On  the  coasts  of  the  Dark  Continent  of  Igno 
rance  the  several  sciences  have  gained  a  foothold. 
In  each  case  there  is  a  well-defined  country  care 
fully  surveyed  and  guarded.  Within  its  frontiers 
the  laws  are  obeyed,  and  all  affairs  are  carried 
on  in  an  orderly  fashion.  Beyond  it  is  a  vague 
"  sphere  of  influence,"  a  Hinter-land  over  which 
ambitious  claims  of  suzerainty  are  made  ;  but  the 
native  tribes  have  not  yet  been  exterminated,  and 
life  goes  on  very  much  as  in  the  olden  time.  Into 
the  Hinter-land  the  Gentle  Reader  wanders,  and 
he  is  known  to  the  scientific  explorer  as  a  friendly 
native,  whose  good-will  is  worth  cultivating.  He 
is  often  confounded  with  the  "  General  Reader," 
a  very  different  person,  whose  omnivorous  appe 
tite  and  intemperance  in  the  use  of  miscellaneous 


232  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

information  are  very  offensive  to  him.  Unscru 
pulous  adventurers  carry  on  a  thriving  trade  with 
the  General  Reader  in  damaged  goods,  which  are 
foisted  on  him  under  the  name  of  Popular  Science. 

In  the  Hinter-land  there  is  dense  ignorance  of 
the  achievements  and  even  of  the  names  of  most 
of  those  who  are  recognized  as  authorities  in  their 
several  sciences.  They  are  as  unknown  as  is  the 
Lord  Mayor  of  London  to  the  natives  on  the 
banks  of  the  Zambesi.  The  heroes  of  the  Hin 
ter-land  are  the  bold  explorers  who  in  militant 
fashion  have  made  their  way  into  regions  as  yet 
unsubdued. 

In  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  there 
was  an  heroic  period  during  which  scientific  in 
vestigation  took  on  all  the  color  of  romance. 
The  Gentle  Reader  turns  to  the  lives  and  works 
of  Darwin,  Huxley,  and  Tyndall,  very  much  as 
he  would  turn  to  the  tales  of  Charlemagne  and 
his  Paladins.  Here  was  a  field  of  action.  Some 
thing  happened.  As  he  reads  he  is  conscious 
that  he  has  nothing  of  that  impersonal  attitude 
which  belongs  to  pure  science.  It  is  not  scien 
tific  but  human  interest  which  moves  him.  He 


THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE  233 

Is  anxious  to  know  what  these  men  did,  and  what 
was  the  result  of  their  deeds.  It  is  an  intellectual 
adventure  of  which  the  outcome  is  still  uncertain. 

The  new  generation  cannot  fully  realize  what 
the  word  "  Evolution  "  meant  to  those  who  saw 
in  it  a  portent  of  mysterious  change.  In  its  early 
advocates  there  was  a  mingling  of  romantic  dar 
ing  and  missionary  zeal.  Its  enemies  resisted 
with  the  fortitude  which  belongs  to  those  who 
never  know  when  they  are  beaten.  In  almost 
any  old  bookstores  one  may  see  a  counter  labeled 
"  Second-hand  Theology,  very  cheap."  It  is  a 
collection  of  the  spent  ammunition  which  may 
still  be  found  on  the  field  of  battle.  It  is  in  an 
unfrequented  corner.  Now  and  then  a  theologi 
cal  student  may  visit  it,  but  even  he  seems  rather 
to  be  a  vague  considerer  of  worthy  things  than 
a  bargain  hunter.  Yet  once  these  volumes  were 
eagerly  read. 

Out  of  the  border  warfare  between  Science  and 
certain  types  of  Theology  and  Philosophy  there 
came  a  kind  of  literature  that  has  a  very  real 
value  and  which  is  not  lacking  in  charm.  What 
a  sense  of  relief  came  to  the  Gentle  Reader  when 
he  stumbled  upon  John  Fiske's  "  Excursions  of 


234  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

an  Evolutionist."  This  was  the  very  thing  he 
had  been  looking  for  ;  not  an  exhaustive  survey, 
nor  a  strenuous  campaign,  but  an  excursion  with 
a  competent  guide  and  interpreter,  a  friendly 
person  acquainted  with  the  country  who  would 
tell  him  the  things  he  wanted  to  know,  and  not 
weary  him  with  irrelevant  and  confusing  details. 

What  an  admirable  interpreter  Fiske  was ! 
Darwin,  with  characteristic  modesty,  acknow 
ledged  his  indebtedness  to  him  for  pointing  out 
some  of  the  larger  results  of  his  own  inves 
tigations.  He  had  the  instinct  which  enabled 
him  to  seize  the  salient  points  ;  to  open  up  new 
vistas,  to  make  clear  a  situation.  His  histories 
are  always  readable  because  he  followed  the 
main  stream  and  never  lost  himself  in  a  sluggish 
bayou.  The  same  method  applied  to  cosmic 
forces  makes  him  see  their  dramatic  movement. 
It  is  the  genius  of  a  born  man  of  letters  using 
the  facts  discovered  by  scientific  methods  for  its 
own  purpose.  That  purpose  is  always  broad  and 
humanizing. 

The  specialist  is  apt  to  speak  patronizingly  of 
such  work,  as  if  it  were  necessarily  inferior  to  his 
own.  It  seems  to  bear  the  marks  of  superficial- 


THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE  235 

ity.  To  appreciate  it  properly  one  must  take  it 
for  what  it  is.  Man  was  interested  in  the  Uni 
verse  long  before  he  began  to  study  it  scientifi 
cally.  He  dreamed  about  it,  he  mused  over  its 
mysteries,  he  talked  about  its  more  obvious  as 
pects.  And  it  is  as  interesting  now  as  it  ever 
was  and  as  fit  an  object  of  thought.  The  con 
ceptions  which  satisfied  us  in  the  days  when  igno 
rance  had  not  arrived  at  self-consciousness  have 
to  be  given  up ;  but  we  are  anxious  to  know  what 
have  taken  their  places.  We  want  to  get  our 
bearings  and  to  discern  the  general  trend  of  the 
forces  which  make  the  world.  It  is  no  mean 
order  of  mind  that  is  fitted  to  answer  our  needs 
by  wise  interpretation. 

There  is  often  a  conflict  between  private  own 
ers  and  the  public  over  the  right  to  fish  in  certain 
waters.  The  landowners  put  up  warning  signs 
and  try  to  prevent  trespass,  while  the  public  in 
sists  on  its  ancient  privileges.  The  law,  with 
that  admirable  common  sense  for  which  it  has 
such  a  great  reputation,  makes  a  distinction. 
The  small  pond  may  be  privately  owned  and 
fenced  in,  but  "  boatable  waters  "  are  free  to  all. 

So  we  may  concede  to  the  specialist  the  exclu« 


236  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

sive  right  to  have  an  opinion  on  certain  sub 
jects  —  subjects  let  us  say  of  a  size  suitable  for 
the  thesis  of  a  Doctor  of  Philosophy.  But  we 
are  not  to  be  shut  off  from  the  pleasure  of  think 
ing  on  more  sizable  themes.  We  have  all  equal 
rights  on  the  "  boatable  waters." 

Matthew  Arnold  retells  the  story  of  the  Scho 
lar-gypsy  who,  forsaking  the  university,  "  took  to 
the  woods,"  —  so  far  as  we  can  learn  from  the 
poem,  to  his  own  spiritual  and  intellectual  ad 
vantage.  The  combination  of  the  scholar  and 
gypsy  has  a  fascination.  One  likes  to  conceive  of 
thought  as  playing  freely  among  the  other  forces 
of  nature,  and  dealing  directly  with  all  objects 
and  not  with  those  especially  prepared  for  it. 

Across  the  border-land  of  the  physical  sciences 
one  may  meet  many  such  scholar-gypsies.  They 
have  taken  to  the  wilderness  and  yet  carried  into 
it  a  trained  intelligence.  Here  may  be  found 
keen  observers,  who  might  have  written  text-books 
on  ornithology  had  they  not  fallen  in  love  with 
birds.  They  follow  their  friends  into  their  haunts 
in  the  thickets,  and  they  love  to  gossip  about  their 
peculiarities.  Here  are  botanists  who  love  the 


THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE  237 

growing  things  in  the  fields  and  woods  better 
than  the  specimens  in  their  herbariums.  They 
love  to  describe  better  than  to  analyze.  Now  and 
then  one  may  meet  a  renegade  who  carries  a  geo 
logist's  hammer.  It  is  a  sheer  hypocrisy,  like  a 
fishing  rod  in  the  hands  of  a  contemplative  ram 
bler.  It  is  merely  an  excuse  for  being  out  of 
doors  and  among  the  mountains. 

The  Gentle  Reader  finds  unfailing  delight  in 
these  wanderers.  They  open  up  to  him  a  leafy 
world.  Thanks  to  them  there  are  places  where 
he  feels  intimately  at  home :  a  certain  English 
parish  ;  a  strip  of  woodland  in  Massachusetts ; 
the  vicinity  of  a  farm  on  the  Hudson ;  an  en 
chanted  country  in  the  high  Sierras. 

"  I  verily  believe,"  he  says,  "  there  is  more 
Natural  History  to  be  learned  in  such  places  than 
in  all  the  museums.  Besides,  I  never  liked  a 
museum." 

The  fact  is  that  he  does  learn  a  good  many 
things  in  this  way  —  and  some  of  them  he  re 
members. 

The  native  African  who  is  capable  of  under 
standing  the  philosophy  of  history  may  adjust 


238  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

his  mind  to  the  idea  that  his  continent  is  intended 
for  exploitation  by  a  superior  race.  The  forests 
in  which  his  ancestors  have  hunted  for  genera 
tions  form  only  a  part  of  the  Hinter-land  of  some 
colony  on  the  coast  which  he  has  never  seen. 
After  a  time,  by  an  inevitable  process  of  expan 
sion,  the  colony  will  absorb  and  assimilate  all  the 
adjoining  country.  But  his  perplexities  are  not 
over  when  he  has,  in  a  general  way,  resigned 
himself  to  manifest  destiny.  He  discovers  that 
all  Europeans  are  not  alike,  though  they  certainly 
look  alike.  There  are  conflicting  claims.  To 
whose  sphere  of  influence  does  he  belong  ?  It  is 
not  easy  to  answer  such  questions,  and  mistakes 
are  liable  to  bring  down  upon  him  punitive  ex 
peditions  from  different  quarters. 

A  similar  perplexity  arises  in  the  minds  of 
the  simple  inhabitants  of  the  scientific  Hinter 
lands.  They  are  ready  to  admit  the  superior 
claims  of  the  exact  sciences,  but  they  are  puz 
zled  to  know  to  what  particular  sphere  they  be 
long. 

In  the  absence  of  any  generally  received  phi 
losophy  each  special  science  pushes  out  as  far  as 
it  can  and  attempts  to  take  in  the  whole  of  exist 


THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE  239 

ence.  The  specialist,  forgetting  his  self-imposed 
limitations,  and  fired  with  the  ambition  for  wide 
generalization,  which  is  the  infirmity  of  all  active 
minds,  becomes  an  intellectual  tyrant.  He  is  a 
veritable  Tamerlane,  and  if  he  rears  no  pyramids 
of  skulls,  he  leaves  behind  him  a  multitude  of 
muddled  brains. 

Wilberforce  tells  us  of  the  havoc  wrought  in 
his  day  by  the  new  science  of  Political  Economy. 
Adam  Smith's  "  Wealth  of  Nations  "  was  hailed 
as  the  complete  solution  of  all  social  problems. 
Forgetting  the  narrow  scope  of  the  inquiry  which 
had  to  do  with  only  a  single  aspect  of  human 
life,  the  maxims  of  trade  were  elevated  into  the 
place  of  the  moral  law.  Superstition  magnified 
those  useful  twins,  Demand  and  Supply,  into 
two  all-powerful  Genii  who  were  quite  capable  of 
doing  the  work  of  Providence.  For  any  one  in 
the  spirit  of  brotherly  kindness  to  interfere  with 
their  autocratic  operations  was  looked  upon  as 
an  act  of  rebellion  against  the  nature  of  things. 
"A  dismal  science,"  indeed,  as  any  science  is 
when  it  becomes  an  unlimited  despotism. 

At  the  present  time  Geology  is  a  very  modest 
science,  remaining  peacefully  within  its  natural 


240  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

frontiers  ;  but  in  the  days  of  Hugh  Miller  it 
was  viewed  with  alarm.  Elated  with  its  victory 
in  the  affair  with  Genesis,  its  adherents  were  filled 
with  militant  ardor  and  were  in  the  mood  for 
universal  conquest.  In  alliance  with  Chemistry 
it  invaded  the  sphere  of  morals.  Was  not  even 
Ruskin  induced  to  write  of  the  "  Ethics  of  the 
Dust  "  ?  In  the  form  of  Physical  Geography  and 
with  the  auxiliary  forces  of  Meteorology,  it  was 
ready  to  recast  human  history.  Books  were 
written  to  show  that  all  civilization  could  be 
sufficiently  explained  by  one  who  took  account 
only  of  such  features  of  the  world  as  soil  and 
climate. 

While  learned  men  were  geologizing  through 
the  successive  stratifications  of  humanity,  a  new 
claimant  appeared.  Biology  became  easily  the 
paramount  power.  Its  fame  spread  far  and 
wide  among  those  who  knew  nothing  of  its  se 
verer  methods.  In  the  Hinter-land  the  worship 
of  Protoplasm  became  a  cult.  The  hopes  and 
fears  and  spiritual  powers  of  humanity  seemed 
illusory  unless  such  phenomena  were  confirmed 
by  analogies  drawn  from  "the  psychic  life  of 
micro-organisms."  Fortunately  at  about  this 


THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE  241 

time  the  aggressive  temper  of  "  The  New  Psy 
chology  "  did  much  to  restore  the  balance  of 
power.  Under  its  influence  those  who  still  ad 
hered  to  the  belief  that  the  proper  study  of  man 
kind  is  man  took  heart  and  ventured,  though  with 
caution,  to  move  abroad.  The  new  Psychology 
in  its  turn  has  developed  imperialistic  ambitions. 
Its  conquests  have  not  been  without  much  devas 
tation,  especially  in  the  fair  fields  of  education. 
A  distinguished  Psychologist  has  sounded  a  note 
of  warning.  He  would  have  psychological  ex 
periments  confined  to  the  laboratory,  leaving  the 
school -room  to  the  wholesome  government  of 
common  sense.  It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether 
such  protests  will  avail  any  more  than  the  elo 
quence  of  the  Little  Englanders  has  been  able 
to  limit  colonial  expansion. 

The  border-land  between  Psychology  and  So 
ciology  is  the  scene  of  many  a  foray.  The  Psy 
chologist  thinks  nothing  of  following  a  fleeing  idea 
across  the  frontier.  He  deals  confidently  with 
the  "  Psychology  of  the  mob,"  and  "  the  aggre 
gate  mind,"  and  the  hypnotic  influence  of  the 
crowd.  There  is  such  an  air  of  authority  about 
it  all,  that  we  forget  that  he  is  dealing  with  fig- 


242  THE  HINTER-LAND  OF  SCIENCE 

ures  of  speech.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Sociolo 
gist  attempts  to  solve  the  most  delicate  problems 
of  the  individual  soul  by  the  statistical  method. 

The  Hinter-land  has  not  yet  been  reduced  to 
order.  The  Gentle  Reader  suspects  that  no  one 
of  the  rival  sciences  is  strong  enough  to  impose 
its  own  laws  over  so  wide  a  region.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  they  may  have  to  call  upon  Philosophy 
to  undertake  the  task  of  forming  a  responsible 
government. 


SSTHERE  has  been  a  sad  falling  off  in  clerical 
^f  character,"  says  the  Gentle  Reader.  "  In 
the  old  books  it  is  a  pleasure  to  meet  a  parson. 
He  is  so  simple  and  hearty  that  you  feel  at  home 
with  him  at  once.  You  know  just  where  to  find 
him,  and  he  always  takes  himself  and  his  profes 
sion  for  granted.  He  may  be  a  trifle  narrow, 
but  you  make  allowance  for  that,  and  as  for  his 
charity  it  has  no  limits.  You  expect  him  to  give 
away  everything  he  can  lay  hands  on.  As  for 
his  creed  it  is  always  the  same  as  the  church  to 
which  he  belongs,  which  is  a  great  relief  and 
saves  no  end  of  trouble.  But  the  clergyman  I 
meet  with  in  novels  nowadays  is  in  a  chronic 


244  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

state  of  fidgetiness.  Nothing  is  as  it  seems  or 
as  it  ought  to  be.  He  is  as  full  of  problems  as 
an  egg  is  full  of  meat.  Everything  resolves 
itself  into  a  conflict  of  duties,  and  whichever 
duty  he  does  he  wishes  it  had  been  the  other  one. 
When  the  poor  man  is  not  fretting  because  of 
evil-doers  he  begins  to  fret  because  of  the  well 
doers,  who  do  well  in  the  old  fashion  without 
any  proper  knowledge  of  the  Higher  Criticism  or 
Sanitary  Drainage.  What  with  his  creed  and  his 
congregation  and  his  love  affairs,  all  of  which 
need  mending,  he  lives  a  distracted  life.  Though 
the  author  in  the  first  chapter  praises  his  athletic 
prowess,  he  seems  to  have  no  staying  powers  and 
his  nerves  give  out  under  the  least  strain.  He 
is  one  of  those  trying  characters  of  whom  some 
one  has  said  that  '  we  can  hear  their  souls 
scrape.'  I  prefer  the  old-time  parsons.  They 
were  much  more  comfortable  and  in  more  rugged 
health.  I  like  the  phrase  '  Bishops  and  other 
Clergy.'  The  bishops  are  great  personages 
whose  lives  are  written  like  the  lives  of  the  Lord 
Chancellors ;  and  they  are  not  always  very 
readable.  But  my  heart  goes  out  to  the  other 
clergy,  the  good  sensible  men  who  were  neither 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  245 

great  scholars  nor  reformers  nor  martyrs,  and 
who  therefore  did  not  get  into  the  Church  His 
tories,  but  who  kept  things  going." 

When  he  turns  to  the  parson  of  "  The  Canter 
bury  Tales"  he  finds  the  refreshment  that  comes 
from  contact  with  a  perfectly  wholesome  nature. 
Here  is  an  enduring  type  of  natural  piety.  In 
the  person  of  the  good  man  the  prayers  of  the 
church  for  the  healthful  spirit  of  grace  had  been 
answered  in  full  measure.  In  his  ministry  in  his 
wide  parish  we  cannot  imagine  him  as  being 
worried  or  hurried.  There  could  be  for  him  no 
conflict  of  duties ;  the  duties  plodded  along  one 
after  another  in  sturdy  English  fashion.  And 
when  the  duties  were  well  done  that  was  the  end 
of  them.  Their  pale  uneasy  ghosts  did  not  dis 
turb  his  slumbers,  and  point  with  vague  menace 
to  the  unattainable.  The  parson  had  his  place 
and  his  definite  task.  He  trod  the  earth  as  firmly 
and  sometimes  as  heavily  as  did  the  ploughman. 

If  the  virtues  of  the  fourteenth-century  parson 
were  of  the  enduring  order,  so  were  his  foibles. 
The  Gentle  Reader  is  familiar  with  his  weak 
nesses  ;  for  has  he  not  "  sat  under  his  preach 
ing  ?  "  The  homiletic  habit  is  hard  to  break,  and 


246  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

renders  its  victim  strangely  oblivious  to  the  pas 
sage  of  time.  Every  incident  suggests  a  text 
and  every  text  suggests  a  new  application.  In 
the  homiletic  sphere  perpetual  motion  is  an 
assured  success. 

What  sinking  of  heart  must  have  come  to  lay 
men  like  the  merchant  and  the  yeoman  when  the 
parson  on  the  pleasant  road  to  Canterbury  called 
their  attention  to  the  resemblance  between  their 
journey  and 

"...  thilke  parfit,  glorious  pilgrymage, 
That  highte  Jerusalem  celestial." 

They  knew  the  symptoms.  When  the  homilist 
has  got  scent  of  an  analogy  he  will  run  it  down, 
however  long  the  chase. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  discover  the  origin 
of  the  impression  so  persistent  in  the  lay  mind 
that  sermons  are  long.  A  sermon  is  seldom  as 
long  as  it  seems.  But  it  is  always  with  trepida 
tion  that  the  listener  observes  in  a  discourse  a 
constitutional  tendency  to  longevity.  In  his 
opinion  the  good  die  young.  As  it  is  to-day  so 
it  was  on  the  afternoon  when  the  host,  with  ill- 
concealed  alarm,  called  upon  the  good  parson  to 
take  his  turn. 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  247 

;<  Telleth,"  quod  he,  "  youre  meditacioun  ; 
But  hasteth  yow,  the  sonne  wole  adoun. 
Beth  fructuous,  and  that  in  litel  space." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  what  the  parson  called 
his  "  little  tale  in  prose"  proved  to  be  one  of  his 
old  sermons  which  he  delivered  without  notes. 
He  was  very  unskillful  in  concealing  his  text, 
which  was  Jeremiah  vi.  16. 

We  are  familiar  with  that  interesting  picture 
of  the  pilgrims  as  they  set  out  in  the  morning, 
each  figure  alert.  I  wonder  that  some  one  has 

O 

not  painted  a  picture  of  them  about  sunset,  as 
the  parson  was  in  the  middle  of  his  discourse. 
It  is  said  that  in  every  battle  there  is  a  critical 
moment  when  each  side  is  almost  exhausted. 
The  side  which  at  this  moment  receives  rein 
forcements  or  rallies  for  a  supreme  effort  gains 
the  victory.  So  one  must  have  noticed  in  every 
over-long  discourse  a  critical  moment  when  the 
speaker  and  his  hearers  are  equally  exhausted. 
If  at  that  moment  the  speaker,  who  has  appar 
ently  used  up  his  material,  boldly  announces 
a  new  head,  the  hearers'  discomfiture  is  complete. 
This  point  of  strategy  the  parson,  guileless  as  he 
was,  understood  and  so  managed  to  get  in  the 


248  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

last  word,  so  that  "  The  Canterbury  Tales  "  end 
with  the  Canterbury  sermon. 

By  the  way,  there  was  one  ministerial  weak- 
ness  from  which  Chaucer's  parson  was  free, — 
the  love  of  alliteration.  One  is  often  struck, 
when  listening  to  a  fervent  discourse  against 
besetting  sins,  with  the  curious  fact  that  all  the 
transgressions  begin  with  the  same  letter  of  the 
alphabet.  There  is  something  suspicious  in  this 
circumstance.  Not  a  great  many  years  ago  a 
political  party  suffered  severely  because  its  can 
didate  received  an  address  from  a  worthy  clergy 
man  who  was  addicted  to  this  habit,  and  instead 
of  the  usual  three  R's  enumerated  "  Rum,  Roman 
ism,  and  Rebellion."  The  chances  are  that  he 
meant  no  offense  to  his  Roman  Catholic  fellow 
citizens ;  but  once  on  the  toboggan  slide  of  allitera 
tion  he  could  not  stop.  If  instead  of  rum  he  had 
begun  with  whiskey,  his  homiletic  instinct  would 
have  led  him  to  assert  that  the  three  perils  of  the 
Republic  were  whiskey,  war,  and  woman-suffrage. 

It  is  to  the  credit  of  Chaucer's  parson  that 
he  distinctly  repudiated  alliteration  with  all  its 
allurements,  especially  in  connection  with  the 
seductive  letter  R. 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  249 

"  I  kan  nat  geeste  '  rum,  ram,  ruf]  by  lettre  ; 
Ne,  God  woot,  rym  holde  I  but  Htel  bettre." 

When  it  came  to  plain  prose  without  any  rhetori 
cal  embellishments,  he  was  in  his  element. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  clergyman  is 
not  an  eminently  Shakespearean  character.  The 
great  high  ecclesiastics,  like  Pandulph  and  Wol- 
sey,  are  great  personages  who  make  a  fine  show, 
but  the  other  clergy  are  not  always  in  good  and 
regular  standing.  They  are  sometimes  little 
better  than  hedge-priests.  But  what  pleasant 
glimpses  we  get  into  the  unwritten  history  of  the 
English  Church  in  the  days  when  it  was  still 
Merry  England.  The  Cranmers  and  the  Eidleys 
made  a  great  stir  in  those  days,  but  no  rumors  of 
it  reached  the  rural  parishes  where  Holofernes 
kept  school  and  Nathanael  warmed  over  for  his 
slumbering  congregation  the  scraps  he  had  stolen 
in  his  youth  from  the  feast  of  the  languages.  As 
for  the  parishioners,  they  were  doubtless  well  sat 
isfied  and  could  speak  after  the  fashion  of  Con 
stable  Dull  when  he  was  reproved  for  his  silence. 

"  Goodman  Dull,  thou  hast  said  no  word  all 
this  while." 


850  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

Dull, — "Nor  understood  none  neither,  sir]  " 

The  innocent  pedant  whose  learning  lies  in 
the  dead  languages  and  who  has  a  contempt  for 
the  living  world  is  a  type  not  extinct ;  but  what 
shall  we  say  of  the  Welsh  curate  of  Windsor, 
Hugh  Evans  ?  In  Windsor  Park  Mrs.  Ford 
whispers,  "  Where  is  Nan  now  and  her  troop  of 
fairies,  and  that  Welsh  devil  Sir  Hugh  ?  " 

That  was  her  affectionate,  though  not  respect 
ful,  way  of  referring  to  her  spiritual  adviser. 
Curate  Evans  was  certainly  not  an  example  of 
what  has  been  termed  "  the  mild  and  temperate 
spirituality  which  has  always  characterized  the 
Church  of  England."  The  dignity  of  the  cloth 
is  not  in  his  mind  as  he  cries,  "  Trib,  fairies,  trib, 
come  and  remember  your  parts,  pe  pold,  I  pray 
you, .  . .  when  I  give  the  watch'ords  do  as  I  pid  you." 

Yet  though  he  seemed  not  to  put  so  much  em 
phasis  on  character  in  religion  as  we  in  these 
more  serious  days  think  fitting,  this  Welsh  devil 
of  a  parson  had  enough  of  the  professional  spirit 
to  wish  to  point  a  moral  on  all  proper  occasions. 
Not  too  obtrusive  or  moral,  nor  carrying  it  to 
the  sweating  point,  but  a  good,  sound  approba 
tion  of  right  sentiment.  When  Master  Slender 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  25i 

declares  his  resolution,  "  After  this  trick  I  '11 
ne'er  be  drunk  while  I  live  again  but  in  honest, 
civil,  godly  company.  If  I  be  drunk  I  '11  be 
drunk  with  those  who  fear  God,"  the  convivial 
curate  responds,  "  So  God  judge  me  that  shows 
a  virtuous  mind." 

That  Shakespeare  intended  any  reflection  on 
the  Welsh  clergy  is  not  probable  ;  but  so  late  as 
the  eighteenth  century  a  traveler  in  Wales  re 
marks  that  the  ale  house  was  usually  kept  by  the 
parson.  One  wonders  whether  with  such  mani 
fest  advantages  the  Welsh  ministers'  meetings 
were  given  over  to  lugubrious  essays  on  "  Why 
we  do  not  reach  the  masses." 

Shakespeare  uses  the  word  Puritan  once,  but 
Malvolio  was  a  prig  rather  than  a  true  Puritan. 
His  objection  to  cakes  and  ale  was  rather  because 
revelry  disturbed  his  slumbers  than  because  it 
troubled  his  conscience.  But  when  we  turn  to 
Ben  Jonson's  Alchemist  and  come  across  Tribula 
tion  Wholesome,  from  Amsterdam,  we  know  that 
the  battle  between  the  stage  and  the  conventicle 
has  begun.  We  know  the  solid  virtues  of  these 
sectaries  from  whom  came  some  of  the  best 


252  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

things  in  England  and  New  England.  But  we 
must  not  expect  to  find  this  side  of  their  charac 
ter  in  the  literature  of  the  next  two  or  three 
centuries.  Unfortunately  the  non-conformist  con 
science  was  offended  at  those  innocent  pleasures 
in  which  amiable  writers  and  readers  have  always 
taken  satisfaction. 

Charles  Lamb  inclined  to  the  opinion  of  his 
friend  who  held  that  "  a  man  cannot  have  a  good 
conscience  who  refuses  apple  dumpling."  The 
gastronomic  argument  against  Puritanism  has 
always  been  a  strong  one  with  the  English  mind. 
It  was  felt  that  a  person  must  be  a  hypocrite  who 
could  speak  disrespectfully  of  the  creature  com 
forts.  There  was  no  toleration  for  the  miserable 
pretender  who  would  "  blaspheme  custard  through 
the  nose."  Tribulation  Wholesome  was  deserv 
ing  only  of  the  pillory.  There  was  no  doubt  but 
that  the  viands  which  were  publicly  reprobated 
were  privately  enjoyed. 

"  You  rail  against  plays  to  please  the  alderman 
Whose  daily  custard  you  devour. 
.  .  .  You  call  yourselves 
By  names  of  Tribulation,  Persecution, 
Restraint,  Long  Patience  and  such-like,  affected 
Only  for  glory  and  to  catch  the  ear 
Of  the  disciple." 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  253 

In  "Bartholomew  Fair  "  we  meet  Mr.  Zeal  of 
the  Land  Busy,  an  unlicensed  exhorter,  who  has 
attained  the  liberty  of  prophesying,  and  is  the 
leader  of  a  little  flock. 

Did  history  keep  on  repeating  itself,  or  did 
literary  men  keep  on  repeating  each  other  ?  At 
any  rate  Mr.  Zeal  of  the  Land  Busy  reappears 
continually.  He  is  in  every  particular  the  proto 
type  of  those  painful  brethren  who  roused  the 
wrath  of  honest  Sam  Weller.  We  recognize  his 
unctuous  speech,  his  unfailing  appetite,  and  even 
his  offensive  and  defensive  alliance  with  the 
mother-in-law. 

Mr.  Little- Wit  introduces  him  as  "An  old 
elder  from  Banbury  who  puts  in  here  at  meal 
times  to  praise  the  painful  brethren  and  to  pray 
that  the  sweet  singers  may  be  restored ;  and  he 
says  grace  as  long  as  his  breath  lasts." 

To  which  Mrs.  Little-Wit  responds,  "Yes, 
indeed,  we  have  such  a  tedious  time  with  him, 
what  for  his  diet  and  his  clothes  too,  he  breaks 
his  buttons  and  cracks  seams  at  every  saying  that 
he  sobs  out." 

In  answer  to  the  anxious  inquiry  of  his  mother- 
in-law,  Dame  Pure-Craft,  Little- Wit  announces 


254  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

that  he  has  found  the  good  man  "  with  his  teeth 
fast  in  the  cold  turkey-pie  in  the  cupboard,  with 
a  great  white  loaf  on  his  left  hand,  and  a  glass 
of  malmsey  on  his  right."  In  Dame  Pure-Craft 
he  finds  a  stanch  supporter.  "  Slander  not  the 
brethren,  wicked  one,"  she  cries. 

Zeal  of  the  Land  Busy  attempts  to  lead  his  flock 
through  the  perils  of  Bartholomew  Fair.  "  Walk 
in  the  middle  of  the  way  —  turn  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left.  Let  not  your  eyes  be  drawn 
aside  by  vanity  nor  your  ears  by  noises."  It  was 
indeed  a  dangerous  journey,  for  it  was  nothing 
less  than  "  a  grove  of  hobby  horses  and  trinkets ; 
the  wares  are  the  wares  of  devils,  and  the  fair  is 
the  shop  of  Satan." 

But,  alas,  though  the  eyes  and  ears  were 
guarded,  another  avenue  of  temptation  had  been 
forgotten.  The  delicious  odor  of  roast  pig  came 
from  one  of  the  booths.  It  was  a  delicate  little 
pig,  cooked  with  fire  of  juniper  and  rosemary 
branches.  Mrs.  Little-Wit  longed  for  it  and  her 
husband  encouraged  her  weakness.  Dame  Pure- 
Craft  rebukes  him  and  bids  him  remember  the 
wholesome  admonition  of  their  leader. 

Zeal  of  the  Land  Busy  is  a  casuist  of  no  mean 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  255 

ability,  and  is  equal  to  the  task  of  finding  an  ex 
ception  to  his  own  rule. 

"  It  may  offer  itself  by  other  means  to  the 
sense,  as  by  way  of  steam,  which  I  think  it  doth 
in  this  place,  huh  !  huh! — yes,  it  doth.  And  it 
were  a  sin  of  obstinacy,  high  and  horrible  ob 
stinacy,  to  resist  the  titillation  of  the  famelic 
sense  which  is  smell.  Therefore  be  bold,  follow 
the  scent ;  enter  the  tents  of  the  unclean  for  this 
once,  and  satisfy  your  wife's  frailty.  Let  your 
frail  wife  be  satisfied  ;  your  zealous  mother  and 
iny  suffering  self  will  be  satisfied  also." 

Zeal  of  the  Land  Busy  was  like  a  certain  Eng 
lish  statesman  of  whom  it  was  said,  "  His  con 
science,  instead  of  being  his  monitor,  became  his 
accomplice." 

One  characteristic  of  these  unlicensed  exhort- 
ers  seems  to  be  very  persistent,  —  their  almost 
superhuman  fluency.  Despising  preparation  and 
trusting  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  they 
are  never  left  without  words.  Preaching  without 
notes  is  not  particularly  difficult  if  one  has  some 
thing  to  say,  but  these  exhorters  attempt  to 
preach  without  notes  and  also  without  ideas. 
They  require  nothing  but  a  word  to  begin  with. 


256  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

The  speaker  is  like  an  army  which,  having  broken 
away  from  its  base  of  supplies,  lives  on  the  coun 
try  through  which  it  is  marching.  The  hortatory 
guerrilla  gets  forage  enough  in  one  sentence  to 
carry  him  on  through  the  next.  This  was  the 
homiletical  method  which  Zeal  of  the  Land  used 
in  his  discourse  at  the  fair.  At  a  venture  he 
cries  out,  — 

"  Down  with  Dagon  !  " 

Leather-Head,  the  hobby-horse  seller,  asks  very 
imprudently,  — 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  !  " 

That  was  enough ;  a  torrent  of  impromptu  elo 
quence  is  let  loose. 

"  I  will  remove  Dagon  there,  I  say ;  that  idol, 
that  heathenish  idol,  that  remains  as  I  may  say 
a  beam,  a  very  beam,  not  a  beam  of  the  sun,  nor 
a  beam  of  the  moon,  nor  a  beam  of  the  balance, 
neither  a  house  beam,  nor  a  weaver's  beam,  but 
a  beam  in  the  eye,  an  exceeding  great  beam  !  " 

It  was  the  same  method  employed  long  after  by 
Mr.  Chadband  in  his  moving  address  to  little  Joe. 

"  My  young  friend,  you  are  to  us  a  pearl,  a 
diamond,  you  are  to  us  a  jewel.  And  why,  my 
young  friend  ?  " 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  257 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Joe,  "  I  don't  know 
nothink." 

This  gave  Mr.  Chadband  his  opportunity  for 
continued  speech.  "  My  young  friend,  it  is  be 
cause  you  know  nothing  that  you  are  to  us  a  gem, 
a  jewel.  For  what  are  you  ?  Are  you  a  beast  of 
the  field  ?  No !  Are  you  a  fish  of  the  river  ? 
No  !  You  are  a  human  boy  !  Oh,  glorious  to 
be  a  human  boy !  And  why  glorious,  my  young 
friend?" 

Marvelous,  to  taciturn  folk,  is  this  flow  of 
language.  The  little  rill  becomes  a  torrent,  and 
soon  there  are  waters  to  swim  in.  It  seems  to 
savor  of  the  supernatural,  being  of  the  nature  of 
creation  out  of  nothing.  And  yet  like  many 
other  wonderful  things,  it  is  easy  when  one  knows 
how  to  do  it. 

The  churchmen  of  those  days  joined  with  the 
wits  in  laughter  which  greeted  the  tinkers  and  the 
bakers  who  turned  to  prophesying  on  their  own 
account.  But  now  and  then  one  of  the  zealous 
independents  could  give  as  keen  a  thrust  as  any 
which  were  received.  It  would  be  hard  to  find 
more  delicate  satire  than  in  the  description  of  Par- 


258  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

son  Two  Tongues  of  the  town  of  Fair  Speech,  who 
was  much  esteemed  by  his  distinguished  parish 
ioners,  My  Lord  Time-Server,  Mr.  Facing  Both- 
Ways,  and  Mr.  Anything.  The  parson  was  a  man 
of  good  family,  though  his  grandfather  had  been 
a  waterman,  and  had  thus  learned  the  art  of  look 
ing  one  way  and  rowing  another.  It  is  his  pa 
rishioner  Mr.  Bye-Ends  who  propounds  the  ques 
tion  of  ministerial  ethics.  "  Suppose  a  minister,  a 
worthy  man,  possessed  of  but  a  small  benefice, 
has  in  his  eye  a  greater,  more  fat  and  plump  by 
far  ;  he  has  also  now  an  opportunity  of  getting 
it,  yet  so  as  being  more  studious,  by  preaching 
more  zealously,  and  because  the  temper  of  the 
people  requires  it,  by  altering  some  of  his  prin 
ciples,  for  my  part  I  see  no  reason  but  a  man  may 
do  this  (provided  he  has  a  call),  aye,  and  a  great 
deal  more  besides,  and  be  an  honest  man."  As 
for  changing  his  principles  to  suit  the  times,  Mr. 
Bye-Ends  argues  that  it  shows  that  the  minister 
"  is  of  a  self-sacrificing  temper." 

The  argument  for  conformity  is  put  so  plausi 
bly  that  it  is  calculated  to  deceive  the  very  elect  ; 
and  then  as  if  by  mere  inadvertence  we  are 
allowed  a  glimpse  of  the  seamy  side.  It  is  evi- 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  259 

dent  that  the  wits  were  not  all  banished  from  the 
conventicles. 

To  those  who  are  acquainted  only  with  the 
pale  and  interesting  tea-drinking  parsons  of 
nineteenth-century  English  fiction,  there  is  some 
thing  surprising  in  the  clergymen  one  meets 
in  the  pages  of  Fielding.  They  are  all  in  such 
rude  health  !  There  is  not  a  suggestion  of  nerv 
ous  prostration  nor  of  minister's  sore  throat. 
Not  one  of  them  seems  to  be  in  need  of  a  vaca 
tion  ;  perhaps  because  they  are  out  of  doors 
all  the  time.  Their  professional  duties  were 
doubtless  done,  but  they  are  not  obtruded  on 
the  reader's  attention. 

The  odious  Chaplain  Thwackum  is  chiefly  re 
membered  for  his  argument  with  the  free-thinker 
Square.  Square  having  asserted  that  honor  might 
exist  independently  of  religion,  Thwackum  re 
futes  him  in  a  manner  most  satisfactory.  "  When 
I  mention  religion  I  mean  the  Christian  religion, 
and  not  only  the  Christian  religion  but  the  Pro 
testant  religion,  and  not  only  the  Protestant  re 
ligion  but  the  religion  of  the  Church  of  England  ; 
and  when  I  mention  honor  I  mean  that  mode  of 


260  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

divine  grace  which  is  dependent  on  that  reli 
gion." 

"  Thwackum,"  says  the  Gentle  Reader,  "  was, 
after  all,  an  unworldly  man.  He  was  content  to 
remain  a  mere  hanger-on  of  the  church  when  he 
was  capable  of  thoughts  which  were  really  in 
great  demand.  I  have  been  looking  over  a  huge 
controversial  volume  by  an  author  of  that  day, 
and  I  found  nothing  but  Thwackum  argument 
expanded  and  illustrated.  The  author  was  made 
a  bishop  for  it." 

As  for  Parson  Trulliber,  the  Falstaff  of  di 
vines,  the  less  said  about  him  the  better.  The 
curate  Barnabas  is  a  more  pleasing  character, 
though  hardly  an  example  of  spirituality.  He 
reminds  one  of  the  good  parson  who,  in  his  desire 
for  moderation,  prayed  that  the  Lord  might  lead 
his  people  "  in  the  safe  middle  path  between  right 
and  wrong." 

When  Joseph  Andrews  confessed  his  sins  to 
him,  Barnabas  was  divided  between  his  eagerness 
to  do  his  professional  duty  to  the  sinner,  and  the 
desire  to  prepare  the  punch  for  the  company 
downstairs,  a  work  in  which  he  particularly 
excelled. 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  261 

"  Barnabas  asked  him  if  he  forgave  his  enemies 
'as  a  Christian  ought.' 

44  Joseph  desired  to  know  what  that  forgiveness 
was. 

"  *  That  is,'  answered  Barnabas,  '  to  forgive 
them  —  as  —  it  is  to  forgive  them  as  —  in  short, 
to  forgive  them  as  a  Christian.1 

44  Joseph  replied  4  He  forgave  them  as  much  as 
he  could/ 

" '  Well !  Well ! '  said  Barnabas, 4  that  will  do ! ' 
He  then  demanded  of  him  if  he  had  any  more 
sins  unrepented  of,  and  if  he  had,  to  repent  of 
them  as  fast  as  he  could ;  .  .  .  for  some  company 
was  waiting  below  in  the  parlor  where  the  ingre 
dients  for  punch  were  all  in  readiness,  for  that  no 
one  could  squeeze  the  oranges  till  he  came." 

Barnabas  would  have  been  shocked  at  the 
demands  of  the  Methodists  for  immediate  repent 
ance,  but  on  this  occasion  he  was  led  into  almost 
equal  urgency. 

But  Fielding  more  than  atones  for  all  the  rest 
by  the  creation  of  Parson  Adams.  Dear,  delight 
ful  Parson  Adams !  to  know  him  is  to  love  him  ! 
In  him  the  Church  of  England  appears  a  little 
out  at  the  elbows,  but  in  good  heart.  With  the 


262  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

appetite  of  a  ploughman,  and  "  a  fist  rather  less 
than  the  knuckle  of  an  ox,"  he  represents  the 
true  church  militant.  He  has  a  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  a  short  great  coat  which  half  conceals  his 
cassock,  which  he  had  "  torn  some  ten  years  ago 
in  passing  over  a  stile."  But  however  uncanon- 
ical  his  attire,  his  heart  is  in  the  right  place. 

What  a  different  world  Parson  Adams  lived 
in  from  that  of  George  Eliot's  Amos  Barton, 
bewildered  with  thoughts  which  he  could  not  ex 
press.  "  4  Mr.  Barton,'  said  his  rural  parishioner, 
"  '  can  preach  as  good  a  sermon  as  need  be  wheu 
he  writes  it  down,  but  when  he  tries  to  preach 
without  book  he  rambles  about,  and  every  now 
and  then  flounders  like  a  sheep  as  has  cast  itself 
and  can't  get  on  its  legs.' ' 

One  cannot  imagine  Parson  Adams  flounder 
ing  about,  under  any  circumstances.  There  is  a 
sturdy  strength  and  directness  about  all  he  says 
and  does.  His  simplicity  is  endearing  but  never 
savors  of  weakness. 

He  sets  great  store  by  his  manuscript  sermons, 
for  which  he  seeks  a  publisher.  The  curate  Bar 
nabas  throws  cold  water  on  his  plans.  The  age, 
he  says,  is  so  wicked  that  nobody  reads  sermons ; 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  263 

"  *  Would  you  think  it,  Mr.  Adams,  I  intended 
to  print  a  volume  of  sermons,  myself,  and  they 
had  the  approbation  of  three  bishops,  but  what 
do  you  think  the  bookseller  offered  me  ? ' 

"  '  Twelve  guineas,'  cried  Adams. 

"  4  Nay,'  answered  Barnabas,  '  the  dog  refused 
me  a  concordance  in  exchange.  ...  To  be  con 
cise  with  you,  three  bishops  said  they  were  the 
best  sermons  that  were  ever  writ ;  but  indeed 
there  are  a  pretty  moderate  number  printed 
already,  and  they  are  not  all  sold  yet.' ' 

The  theology  of  Parson  Adams  was  genially 
human.  "  c  Can  anything,'  he  said, '  be  more  de 
rogatory  to  the  honor  of  God  than  for  men  to 
imagine  that  the  all- wise  Being  will  hereafter  say 
to  the  good  and  virtuous,  Notwithstanding  the 
purity  of  thy  life,  notwithstanding  the  constant 
rule  of  virtue  and  goodness  in  which  thou  walk- 
edst  upon  earth  •,  still,  as  thou  didst  not  believe 
everything  in  the  true  orthodox  manner,  thy 
want  of  faith  shall  condemn  thee?  Or,  on  the 
other  side,  can  any  doctrine  be  more  pernicious 
in  society  than  the  persuasion  that  it  will  be  a 
good  plea  for  a  villain  at  the  last  day,  —  "  Lord, 
it  is  true  I  never  obeyed  any  of  Thy  command- 


264  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

ments  ;  yet  punish  me  not,  for  I  believe  in  them 
all?"'" 

This  was  not  sound  doctrine  in  the  opinion  of 
the  itinerant  bookseller.  " c  I  am  afraid,'  he 
said,  '  that  you  will  find  a  backwardness  in  the 
trade  to  engage  in  a  book  which  the  clergy  would 
be  certain  to  cry  down.' ' 

The  good  parson  had  the  clerical  weakness  for 
reading  sermons  in  season  and  out  of  season.  At 
a  festive  gathering  there  was  a  call  for  speeches, 
to  which  it  was  objected  that  no  one  was  pre* 
pared  for  an  address ;  "  '  Unless/  turning  to 
Adams,  '  you  have  a  sermon  about  you.' 

" 4  Sir,'  said  Adams,  4 1  never  travel  without 
one,  for  fear  of  what  might  happen.' ' 

Like  other  clergymen,  he  dabbled  occasionally 
in  politics.  "  c  On  all  proper  seasons,  such  as  at 
the  approach  of  an  election,  I  throw  a  suitable 
dash  or  two  into  my  sermons,  which  I  have 
the  pleasure  to  hear  is  not  disagreeable  to 
Sir  Thomas  and  the  other  honest  gentlemen,  my 
neighbors.' ' 

At  one  time  he  actively  labored  for  the  election 
of  young  Sir  Thomas  Booby,  who  had  lately  re 
turned  from  his  travels.  He  was  elected,  "  4  and 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  265 

a  fine  Parliament  man  he  was.  They  tell  me  he 
made  speeches  of  an  hour  long,  and  I  have  been 
told  very  fine  ones  ;  but  he  could  never  persuade 
Parliament  to  be  of  his  opinion.' ' 

Estimable,  eloquent  Sir  Thomas  Booby  !  How 
many  orators  have  found  the  same  result  follow 
ing  their  speeches  of  an  hour  long ! 

To  the  returned  traveler  who  had  engaged  in 
a  controversy  with  him,  Parson  Adams  gave  ex 
pression  to  his  literary  faith. 

" '  Master  of  mine,  perhaps  I  have  traveled  a 
great  deal  further  than  you,  without  the  assist 
ance  of  a  ship.  Do  you  imagine  sailing  by  dif 
ferent  cities  or  countries  is  traveling.  I  can  go 
further  in  an  afternoon  than  you  in  a  twelve 
month.  What,  I  suppose  you  have  seen  the 
pillars  of  Hercules  and  perhaps  the  walls  of  Car 
thage  ?  .  .  .  You  have  sailed  among  the  Cyclades 
and  passed  the  famous  straits  which  took  their 
name  from  the  unfortunate  Helle,  so  sweetly  de 
scribed  by  Apollonius  Khodius  ;  you  have  passed 
the  very  spot  where  DaBdalus  fell  into  the  sea ; 
you  have  doubtless  traversed  the  Euxine,  and 
called  at  Colchis  to  see  if  there  was  another 
golden  fleece.' 


466  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

"  '  Not  I,  truly,'  said  the  gentleman.  '  I  never 
touched  at  any  of  these  places.' 

" '  But  I  have  been  in  all  these, '  replied 
Adams. 

" '  Then  you  have  been  in  the  Indies,  for  there 
are  no  such  places,  I  '11  be  sworn,  either  in  the 
West  Indies  or  in  the  Levant.' 

"  '  Pray,  where  is  the  Levant  ? '  quoth  Adams. 

"  '  Oho  !  You  're  a  pretty  traveler  and  not  to 
know  the  Levant.  You  must  not  tip  me  for  a 
traveler,  it  won't  go  here.' 

" '  Since  thou  art  so  dull  as  to  misunderstand 
me,'  quoth  Adams,  '  I  will  inform  thee.  The 
traveling  I  mean  is  in  books,  the  only  kind  of 
traveling  by  which  any  knowledge  is  acquired.' '' 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in  defense  of 
that  opinion,"  says  the  Gentle  Reader. 

To  turn  from  Parson  Adams  to  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  is  to  experience  a  change  of  spiritual 
climate.  Parson  Adams  was  a  good  man,  and 
so  was  Dr.  Primrose  ;  otherwise  they  were  quite 
different.  Was  piety  ever  made  more  attractive 
to  restless,  over-driven  people  than  in  the  person 
of  the  dear,  non-resistant  vicar.  Here  was  a  man 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  267 

who  might  be  reviled  and  persecuted,  —  but  he 
never  could  be  hurried. 

The  Gentle  Reader  rejoices  in  the  peace  of  the 
opening  chapters.  "  The  year  was  spent  in  moral 
and  rural  amusements.  We  had  no  revolutions 
to  fear,  no  fatigues  to  undergo,  all  our  adven 
tures  were  by  the  fireside,  and  all  our  migrations 
were  from  the  blue  bed  to  the  brown."  And 
good-natured  Mrs.  Primrose,  absorbed  in  making 
pickles  and  gooseberry  wine,  and  with  her  ability 
to  read  any  English  book  without  much  spelling, 
was  an  ideal  minister's  wife,  before  the  days  of 
missionary  societies  and  general  information.  It 
was  only  her  frivolous  daughters  who  were 
brought  into  society,  where  there  was  talk  of 
"  pictures,  taste,  Shakespeare,  and  the  musical 
glasses."  These  subjects  not  then  being  sup 
posed  to  have  any  esoteric,  religious  significance, 
which  it  was  the  duty  of  the  minister's  wife  to 
discover  and  disseminate,  she  busied  herself  with 
her  domestic  concerns  without  any  haunting  sense 
that  she  was  neglecting  the  weightier  matters. 
The  vicar's  favorite  sermons  were  in  praise  of 
matrimony,  and  he  preached  out  of  a  happy 
experience. 


268  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

This  peaceful  scene  bears  the  same  relation  to 
the  trials  that  afterwards  befell  the  good  man 
that  the  prologue  to  the  Book  of  Job  does  to  the 
main  part  of  it.  Satan  has  his  will  with  Job,  so 
also  it  happened  with  Dr.  Primrose.  His  banker 
absconds  to  Amsterdam,  his  daughter  elopes  with 
the  wicked  young  squire  who  has  the  father 
thrown  into  prison,  where  he  hears  of  the  death 
of  his  wretched  daughter  who  has  been  cast  off 
by  her  betrayer.  Troubles  came  thick  and  fast  ; 
yet  did  not  the  vicar  hurry,  nor  for  a  moment 
change  the  even  tenor  of  his  way.  It  was  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  when  piety  was 
not  treated  as  an  elemental  force.  It  did  not 
lift  up  its  voice  and  cry  out  against  injustice. 
The  church  was  the  patient  Griselda  married 
to  the  state,  and  the  clergyman  was  a  teacher  of 
resignation. 

Upon  learning  of  his  daughter's  abduction, 
Dr.  Primrose  calls  for  his  Bible  and  his  staff, 
but  he  does  not  indulge  in  any  haste  unbecoming 
a  clergyman.  He  finds  time  in  his  leisurely  pur 
suit  to  discourse  most  judiciously  and  at  con 
siderable  length  on  the  royal  prerogative.  He 
remembers  his  duty  to  the  landed  gentry,  and  on 


AMONG  THE  CLERGY  269 

his  return  from  his  unsuccessful  quest  remains 
several  days  to  enjoy  the  squire's  hospitality. 

Was  ever  poetical  justice  done  with  more 
placidity  and  completeness  than  in  the  prison 
scene  ?  The  vicar,  feeling  that  he  is  about  to  die, 
proceeds  to  address  his  fellow  wretches.  He  falls 
naturally  into  an  old  sermon  on  the  evils  of  free- 
thinking  philosophy,  that  being  the  line  of  the 
least  resistance.  The  discourse  being  finished,  it 
is  without  surprise  and  yet  with  real  pleasure 
that  we  learn  that  he  does  not  die ;  nor  is  his 
son,  who  was  about  to  be  hanged,  hanged  at 
all ;  on  the  contrary,  he  appears  not  long  after 
handsomely  dressed  in  regimentals,  and  makes  a 
modest  and  distant  bow  to  Miss  Wilmot,  the 
heiress.  That  young  lady  had  just  arrived  and 
was  to  be  married  next  day  to  the  wicked  young 
squire,  but  on  learning  that  young  gentleman's 
perfidy,  "  4  Oh  goodness  !  '  cried  the  lovely  girl, 
4  how  I  have  been  deceived.'  "  The  vicar's  son 
being  on  the  spot  in  his  handsome  regimentals, 
they  are  engaged  in  the  presence  of  the  company, 
and  her  affluent  fortune  is  assured  to  this  hitherto 
impecunious  youth.  And  the  daughter  Olivia  at 
the  same  time  appears,  it  happening  that  she  was 


270  THE  GENTLE  READER'S  FRIENDS 

not  dead  after  all,  and  that  she  has  papers  to 
show  that  she  is  the  lawful  wife  of  the  young 
squire.  And  the  banker  who  ran  away  with  the 
vicar's  property  has  been  captured  and  the  money 
restored.  In  the  mean  time  —  for  happy  acci 
dents  never  come  singly  —  the  wretch  who  was 
in  the  act  of  carrying  off  the  younger  daughter 
Sophy  has  been  foiled  by  the  opportune  arrival 
of  Mr.  Burchell.  And  best  of  all,  Mr.  Burchell 
proves  not  to  be  Mr.  Burchell  at  all,  but  the  cele 
brated  Sir  William  Thornhill,  who  is  loyal  to  the 
constitution  and  a  friend  of  the  king.  The  Vicar 
is  so  far  restored  that  he  leaves  the  jail  and  par 
takes  of  a  bountiful  repast,  at  which  the  company 
is  *'  as  merry  as  affluence  and  innocence  could 
make  them." 

Affluence  as  the  providential,  though  some 
times  long  delayed,  reward  of  innocence  was  a 
favorite  thesis  of  eighteenth-century  piety. 

"  It  may  sound  very  absurd,"  says  the  Gentle 
Reader,  "  to  those  who  insist  that  all  the  happen 
ings  should  be  realistic ;  but  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field  is  a  very  real  character,  nevertheless  ;  and 
he  is  the  kind  of  a  person  for  whom  you  would 
expect  things  to  come  out  right  in  the  end." 


HEN  Falstaff  boasted  that  he  was  not  only 
witty  himself  but  the  cause  of  wit  in  other 
men,  he  thought  of  himself  more  highly  than  he 
ought  to  have  thought.  The  very  fact  that  he 
was  witty  prevented  him  from  the  highest  effi 
ciency  in  stimulating  others  in  that  direction. 
The  atmospheric  currents  of  merriment  move  ir 
resistibly  toward  a  vacuum.  Create  a  character 
altogether  destitute  of  humor  and  the  most  slug 
gish  intelligence  is  stirred  in  the  effort  to  fill  the 
void. 

When  we  seek  one  who  is  the  cause  of  wit  in 
other  men  we  pass  by  the  jovial  Falstaff  and 
come  to  the  preternaturally  serious  Don  Quixote. 
Here  we  have  not  the  chance  outcropping  of 
"the  lighter  vein,"  but  the  mother  lode  which 


272  QUIXOTISM 

the  humorist  finds  inexhaustible.  Don  Quixote, 
with  a  lofty  gravity  which  never  for  an  instant 
relaxes,  sets  forth  upon  his  mission.  His  is  a 
soul  impenetrable  to  mirth ;  but  as  he  rides  he 
enlivens  the  whole  country-side.  Everywhere 
merry  eyes  are  watching  him  ;  boisterous  laughter 
comes  from  the  stables  of  village  inns  ;  from  cas* 
tie  windows  high-born  ladies  smile  upon  him ;  the 
peasants  in  the  fields  stand  gaping  and  holding 
their  sides  ;  the  countenances  of  the  priests  relax, 
and  even  the  robbers  salute  the  knight  with  mock 
courtesy.  The  dullest  La  Manchan  is  refreshed, 
and  feels  that  he  belongs  to  a  choice  coterie  of 
wits. 

Cervantes  tells  us  that  he  intended  only  a  bur 
lesque  on  the  books  of  chivalry  which  were  in 
vogue  in  his  day.  Had  he  done  no  more  than  he 
intended,  he  would  have  amused  his  own  genera 
tion  and  then  have  been  forgotten.  It  would  be 
too  much  to  ask  that  we  should  read  the  endless 
tales  about  Amadis  and  Orlando,  only  that  we 
might  appreciate  his  clever  parody  of  them.  A 
satire  lasts  no  longer  than  its  object.  It  must 
shoot  folly  as  it  flies.  To  keep  on  shooting  at  a 
folly  after  it  is  dead  is  unsportsmanlike. 


QUIXOTISM  273 

But  though  we  have  not  read  the  old  books  of 
chivalry,  we  have  all  come  in  contact  with  Quix 
otism.  I  say  we  have  all  come  in  contact  with  it ; 
but  let  no  selfish,  conventional  persons  be  afraid 
lest  they  catch  it.  They  are  immune.  They  may 
do  many  foolish  things,  but  they  cannot  possibly 
be  quixotic.  Quixotism  is  a  malady  possible 
only  to  generous  minds. 

Listen  to  Don  Quixote  as  he  makes  his  plea 
before  the  duke  and  duchess.  "  I  have  redressed 
grievances,  righted  the  injured,  chastised  the  in 
solent,  vanquished  giants.  My  intentions  have 
all  been  directed  toward  virtuous  ends  and  to 
do  good  to  all  mankind.  Now  judge,  most  ex 
cellent  duke  and  duchess,  whether  a  person  who 
makes  it  his  study  to  practice  all  this  deserves  to 
be  called  a  fool." 

Our  first  instinct  is  to  answer  confidently,  "  Of 
course  not !  Such  a  character  as  you  describe  is 
what  we  call  a  hero  or  a  saint."  But  the  person 
whose  moral  enthusiasm  has  been  tempered  with 
a  knowledge  of  the  queer  combinations  of  good 
ness  and  folly  of  which  human  nature  is  capable 
is  more  wary,  and  answers,  "  That  depends." 

In  the  case  of  Don  Quixote  it  depends  very 


274  QUIXOTISM 

much  on  the  kind  of  world  he  lives  in.  If  it 
should  happen  that  in  this  world  there  are  giants 
standing  truculently  at  their  castle  doors,  and 
forlorn  maidens  at  every  cross-roads  waiting  to 
be  rescued,  we  will  grant  him  the  laurels  that  are 
due  to  the  hero.  But  if  La  Mancha  should  not 
furnish  these  materials  for  his  prowess,  —  then 
we  must  take  a  different  view  of  the  case. 

The  poor  gentleman  is  mad,  that  is  what  the 
curate  and  the  barber  say  ;  but  when  we  listen 
to  his  conversation  we  are  in  doubt.  If  the  cu 
rate  could  discourse  half  so  eloquently  he  would 
have  been  a  bishop  long  before  this.  The  most 
that  can  be  said  is  that  he  has  some  notions  which 
are  not  in  accordance  with  the  facts,  and  that 
he  acts  accordingly  ;  but  if  that  were  a  proof  of 
madness  there  would  not  be  enough  sane  persons 
in  the  world  to  make  strait- jackets  for  the  rest. 
His  chief  peculiarity  is  that  he  takes  himself  with 
a  seriousness  that  is  absolute.  All  of  us  have 
thoughts  which  would  not  bear  the  test  of  strict 
examination.  There  are  vagrant  fancies  and 
random  impulses  which,  fortunately  for  our  re 
putations,  come  to  nothing.  We  are  just  on  the 
verge  of  doing  something  absurd  when  we  recog« 


QUIXOTISM  275 

nize  the  character  of  our  proposed  action ;  and  our 
neighbors  lose  a  pleasure.  We  comfort  ourselves 
by  the  reflection  that  their  loss  is  our  gain.  Don 
Quixote  has  no  such  inhibition  ;  he  carries  out 
his  own  ideas  to  their  logical  conclusion. 

The  hero  of  Cervantes  had  muddled  his  wits 
by  the  reading  of  romances.  Almost  any  kind 
of  printed  matter  may  have  the  same  effect  if  one 
is  not  able  to  distinguish  between  what  he  has 
read  and  what  he  has  actually  experienced.  One 
may  read  treatises  on  political  economy  until  he 
mistakes  the  "  economic  man  "  who  acts  only  ac 
cording  to  the  rules  of  enlightened  self-interest 
for  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood.  One  may  read 
so  many  articles  on»  the  Rights  of  Women  that  he 
mistakes  a  hard-working  American  citizen  who 
spends  his  summer  in  a  down-town  office,  in  order 
that  his  wife  and  daughter  may  go  to  Europe,  for 
that  odious  monster  the  Tyrant  Man.  It  is  pos 
sible  to  read  the  Society  columns  of  the  daily 
newspapers  till  the  reader  does  not  know  good 
society  when  he  sees  it.  An  estimable  teacher  in 
the  public  schools  may  devote  herself  so  assidu 
ously  to  pedagogical  literature  that  she  mistakes 
her  schoolroom  for  a  psychological  laboratory, 


276  QUIXOTISM 

with  results  that  are  sufficiently  tragical.  There 
are  excellent  divines  so  learned  in  the  history  of 
the  early  church  that  they  believe  that  semi-pela- 
gianism  is  still  the  paramount  issue.  There  were 
few  men  whose  minds  were,  in  general,  better  bal 
anced  than  Mr.  Gladstone's,  yet  what  a  fine  ex 
ample  of  Quixotism  was  that  suggested  by  Queen 
Victoria's  remark :  "  Mr.  Gladstone  always  ad 
dresses  me  as  if  I  were  a  public  meeting."  To 
address  a  woman  as  if  she  were  a  public  meeting 
is  the  mistake  of  one  who  had  devoted  himself  too 
much  to  political  speeches. 

A  thoroughly  healthy  mind  can  endure  a  good 
deal  of  reading  and  a  considerable  amount  of 
speculation  with  impunity.  It  does  not  take  the 
ideas  thus  derived  too  seriously.  It  is  continu 
ally  making  allowances,  and  every  once  in  a  while 
there  is  a  general  clearance.  It  is  like  a  gun 
which  expels  the  old  cartridge  as  the  new  shot  is 
fired.  When  the  delicate  mechanism  for  the  ex 
pulsion  of  exploded  opinions  gets  out  of  order  the 
mind  becomes  the  victim  of  "  fixed  ideas."  The 
best  idea  becomes  dangerous  when  it  gets  stuck. 
When  the  fixed  ideas  are  of  a  noble  and  disin 
terested  character  we  have  a  situation  which  ex- 


QUIXOTISM  277 

cites  at  once  the  admiration  of  the  moralist  and 
the  apprehension  of  the  alienist.  Perhaps  this 
border-land  between  spiritual  reality  and  intellec 
tual  hallucination  belongs  neither  to  the  moralist 
nor  to  the  alienist,  but  to  the  wise  humorist.  He 
laughs,  but  there  is  no  bitterness  or  scorn  in  his 
laughter.  It  is  mellow  and  human-hearted. 

The  world  is  full  of  people  who  have  a  faculty 
which  enables  them  to  believe  whatever  they  wish. 
Thought  is  not,  for  them,  a  process  which  may 
go  on  indefinitely,  a  work  in  which  they  are  col 
laborating  with  the  universe.  They  do  it  all  by 
themselves.  It  is  the  definite  transaction  of  mak 
ing  up  their  minds.  When  the  mind  is  made  up 
it  closes  with  a  snap.  After  that,  for  an  unwel 
come  idea  to  force  an  entrance  would  be  a  well- 
nigh  impossible  feat  of  intellectual  burglary. 

We  sometimes  speak  of  stubborn  facts.  Non 
sense  !  A  fact  is  a  mere  babe  when  compared 
with  a  stubborn  theory.  Let  the  theory,  however 
extravagant  in  its  origin,  choose  its  own  ground, 
and  intrench  itself  in  the  mind  of  a  well-meaning 
lady  or  gentleman  of  an  argumentative  turn,  and 
I  '11  warrant  you  it  can  hold  its  own  against  a 
whole  regiment  of  facts. 


278  QUIXOTISM 

Did  you  ever  attend  a  meeting  of  the  society 
for  the  —  perhaps  I  had  better  not  mention  the 
name  of  the  society,  lest  I  tread  on  your  favorite 
Quixotism.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  has  a  noble 
purpose.  It  aims  at  nothing  less  than  the  com 
plete  transformation  of  human  society,  by  the  use 
of  means  which,  to  say  the  least,  seem  quite  in* 
adequate. 

After  the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting  have 
been  read,  and  the  objects  of  the  society  have 
been  once  more  stated  with  much  detail,  there  is 
an  opportunity  for  discussion  from  the  floor. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  some  one  who  may  give  some 
new  suggestions,  or  who  may  desire  to  ask  a 
question." 

You  have  observed  what  happens  to  the  unfor 
tunate  questioner.  What  a  sorry  exhibition  he 
makes  of  himself !  No  sooner  does  he  open  his 
mouth  than  every  one  recognizes  his  intellectual 
feebleness.  He  seems  unable  to  grasp  the  simplest 
ideas.  He  stumbles  at  the  first  premise,  and  lies 
sprawling  at  the  very  threshold  of  the  argument. 
u  If  what  I  have  taken  for  granted  be  true,"  says 
the  chairman,  "  do  not  all  the  fine  things  I  have 
been  telling  you  about  follow  necessarily  ?  " 


QUIXOTISM  279 

"  But,"  murmurs  the  questioner,  "  the  things 
you  take  for  granted  are  just  what  trouble  me. 
They  don't  correspond  to  my  experience." 

"Poor,  feeble-minded  questioner!"  cry  the 
members  of  the  society,  "  to  think  that  he  is  not 
even  able  to  take  things  for  granted !  And  then 
to  set  up  his  experience  against  our  constitution 
and  by-laws ! " 

We  sometimes  speak  of  an  inconsequent, 
harum-scarum  person,  who  is  always  going  off 
after  new  ideas,  as  quixotic.  But  true  Quixotism 
is  grave,  self-contained,  conservative.  Within 
its  own  sphere  it  is  accurate  and  circumstantial. 
There  is  no  absurdity  in  its  mental  processes ;  all 
that  is  concealed  in  its  assumptions.  Granted 
the  reality  of  the  scheme  of  knight-errantry,  and 
Don  Quixote  becomes  a  solid,  dependable  man 
who  will  conscientiously  carry  it  out.  There  is 
no  danger  of  his  going  off  into  vagaries.  He  has 
a  mind  that  will  keep  the  roadway. 

He  is  a  sound  critic,  intolerant  of  minor  incon 
gruities.  When  the  puppet-player  tells  about 
the  bells  ringing  in  the  mosques  of  the  Moorish 
town,  the  knight  is  quick  to  correct  him.  "  There 
you  are  out,  boy  ;  the  Moors  have  no  bells ;  they 


280  QUIXOTISM 

only  use  kettledrums.  Your  ringing  of  bells  iu 
Sansuena  is  a  mere  absurdity."  Such  absurdi 
ties  were  not  amusing ;  they  were  offensive  to 
his  serious  taste. 

The  quixotic  mind  loves  greatly  the  appearance 
of  strict  logic.  It  is  satisfied  if  one  statement  is 
consistent  with  another  statement ;  whether  either 
is  consistent  with  the  facts  of  the  case  is  a  curi 
ous  matter  which  it  does  not  care  to  investigate. 
So  much  does  it  love  Logic  that  it  welcomes  even 
that  black  sheep  of  the  logical  family,  the  Fal 
lacy  ;  and  indeed  the  impudent  fellow,  with  all 
his  irresponsible  ways,  does  bear  a  family  resem 
blance  which  is  very  deceiving.  Above  all  is 
there  delight  in  that  alluring  mental  exercise 
known  as  the  argument  in  a  circle.  It  is  an  in 
tellectual  merry-go-round.  A  hobby-horse  on 
rockers  is  sport  for  tame  intelligences,  but  a 
hobby  that  can  be  made  to  go  round  is  exciting. 
You  may  see  grave  divines  and  astute  metaphy 
sicians  and  even  earnest  sociologists  rejoicing  in 
the  swift  sequence  of  their  own  ideas,  as  conclu 
sion  follows  premise  and  premise  conclusion,  in 
endless  gyration.  How  the  daring  riders  clutch 
the  bridles  and  exultingly  watch  the  flying  manes 


QUIXOTISM  281 

of  their  steeds !  They  have  the  sense  of  getting 
somewhere,  and  at  the  same  time  the  comfortable 
assurance  that  that  somewhere  is  the  very  place 
from  which  they  started. 

"  Did  n't  we  tell  you  so !  "  they  cry.  "  Here 
we  are  again.  Our  arguments  must  be  true,  for 
we  can't  get  away  from  them." 

Your  ordinary  investigator  is  a  disappointing 
fellow.  His  opinions  are  always  at  the  mercy  of 
circumstances  over  which  he  has  no  control.  He 
cuts  his  coat  according  to  his  cloth,  and  some 
times  when  his  material  runs  short  his  intellectual 
garments  are  more  scanty  than  decency  allows. 
Sometimes  after  a  weary  journey  into  the  Un 
known  he  will  return  with  scarcely  an  opinion  to 
his  back.  Not  so  with  the  quixotist.  His  opin 
ions  not  being  dependent  on  evidence,  he  does  not 
measure  different  degrees  of  probability.  Half 
a  reason  is  as  good  as  a  whole  one,  for  the  result 
in  any  case  is  perfect  assurance.  All  things  con 
spire,  in  most  miraculous  fashion,  to  confirm  him 
in  his  views.  That  other  men  think  differently 
he  admits,  he  even  welcomes  their  skepticism  as 
a  foil  to  his  faith.  His  imperturbable  tolerance 
is  like  that  of  some  knight  who,  conscious  of  his 


282  QUIXOTISM 

coat  of  mail,  good-humoredly  exposes  himself  to 
the  assaults  of  the  rabble.  It  amuses  them,  and 
does  him  no  harm. 

When  Don  Quixote  had  examined  Mambrino's 
enchanted  helmet,  his  candor  compelled  him  to 
listen  to  Sancho's  assertion  that  it  was  only  a 
barber's  basin.  He  was  not  disposed  to  contro 
vert  the  evidence  of  the  senses,  but  he  had  a  suf 
ficient  explanation  ready.  "  This  enchanted  hel 
met,  by  some  strange  accident,  must  have  fallen 
into  the  possession  of  one  who,  ignorant  of  its  true 
value  as  a  helmet,  and  seeing  it  to  be  of  the  purest 
gold,  hath  inconsiderately  melted  down  the  one 
half  for  lucre's  sake,  and  of  the  other  half  made 
this,  which,  as  thou  sayest,  doth  indeed  look  like 
a  barber's  basin  ;  but  to  me,  who  know  what  it 
really  is,  its  transformation  is  of  no  importance, 
for  I  will  have  it  so  repaired  in  the  first  town 
where  there  is  a  smith  that  it  shall  not  be  sur 
passed  or  even  equaled.  In  the  mean  time  I  will 
wear  it  as  I  can,  for  something  is  better  than 
nothing,  and  it  will  be  sufficient  to  defend  me 
from  stones." 

Where  have  you  heard  that  line  of  argument, 
so  satisfying  to  one  who  has  already  made  up  his 


QUIXOTISM  283 

mind  ?  Yesterday,  it  runs,  we  Lad  several  excel 
lent  reasons  for  the  opinion  which  we  hold.  Since 
then,  owing  to  investigations  which  we  impru 
dently  entered  into  before  we  knew  where  we 
were  coming  out,  all  our  reasons  have  been  over 
thrown.  This,  however,  makes  not  the  slightest 
difference.  It  rather  strengthens  our  general 
position,  as  it  is  no  longer  dependent  on  any  par 
ticular  evidence  for  its  support. 

We  prate  of  the  teaching  of  Experience.  But 
did  you  ever  know  Experience  to  teach  anything 
to  a  person  whose  ideas  had  set  up  an  independ 
ent  government  of  their  own  ?  The  stern  old 
dame  has  been  much  overrated  as  an  instructor. 
Her  pedagogical  method  is  very  primitive.  Her 
instruction  is  administered  by  a  series  of  hard 
whacks  which  the  pupil  is  expected  to  interpret 
for  himself.  That  something  is  wrong  is  evident ; 
but  what  is  it?  It  is  only  now  and  then  that 
some  bright  pupil  says,  "  That  means  that  I  made 
a  mistake."  As  for  persons  of  a  quixotic  dispo 
sition,  the  most  adverse  experience  only  confirms 
their  pre-conceptions.  At  most  the  wisdom 
gained  is  prudential.  After  Don  Quixote  had 
made  his  first  unfortunate  trial  of  his  pasteboard 


284  QUIXOTISM 

visor,  "  to  secure  it  against  like  accidents  in  fu 
ture  he  made  it  anew,  and  fenced  it  with  thin 
plates  of  iron  so  skillfully  that  he  had  reason  to 
be  satisfied  with  his  work,  and  so,  without  fur 
ther  experiment,  resolved  that  it  should  pass  for 
a  good  and  sufficient  helmet." 

One  is  tempted  to  linger  over  that  moment 
when  Quixote  ceased  to  experiment  and  began  to 
dogmatize.  What  was  the  reason  of  his  sudden 
dread  of  destructive  criticism  ?  Was  he  quite 
sincere  ?  Did  he  really  believe  that  his  helmet 
was  now  cutlass  proof  ? 

For  myself,  I  have  no  doubts  of  his  knightly 
honor  and  of  his  transparent  candor.  He  cer 
tainly  believed  that  he  believed ;  though  under 
the  circumstances  he  felt  that  it  was  better  to 
take  no  further  risks. 

In  his  admirable  discourse  with  Don  Fernando 
on  the  comparative  merits  of  arms  and  litera 
ture,  he  describes  the  effects  of  the  invention  of 
gunpowder. 

"  When  I  reflect  on  this  I  am  almost  tempted 
to  say  that  in  my  heart  I  repent  of  having  adopted 
the  profession  of  knight-errantry  in  so  detestable 
an  age  as  we  live  in.  For  though  no  peril  can 


QUIXOTISM  285 

make  me  fear,  still  it  gives  me  some  uneasiness 
to  think  that  powder  and  lead  may  rob  me  of 
the  opportunity  of  making  myself  famous  and 
renowned  throughout  the  world  by  the  might  of 
my  arm  and  the  edge  of  my  sword." 

There  is  here  a  bit  of  uneasiness,  such  as  comes 
to  any  earnest  person  who  perceives  that  the  times 
are  out  of  joint.  Still  the  doubt  does  not  go  very 
deep.  In  an  age  of  artillery  knight-errantry  is 
doubtless  more  difficult,  but  it  does  not  seem  im 
possible. 

It  is  the  same  feeling  that  must  come  now  and 
then  to  a  gallant  twentieth-century  Jacobite  who 
meets  with  his  fellow  conspirators  in  an  Ameri 
can  city,  to  lament  the  untimely  taking  off  of  the 
blessed  martyr  King  Charles,  and  to  plot  for  the 
return  of  the  House  of  Stuart.  The  circum 
stances  under  which  they  meet  are  not  congenial. 
The  path  of  loyalty  is  not  what  it  once  was.  A 
number  of  things  have  happened  since  1649 ;  still 
they  may  be  treated  as  negligible  quantities.  It 
is  a  fine  thing  to  sing  about  the  king  coming  to 
his  own  again. 

"  But  what  if  there  is  n't  any  king  to  speak 
of?" 


286  QUIXOTISM 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  the  principle  is  the 
same." 

I  occasionally  read  a  periodical  devoted  to  the 
elevation  of  mankind  by  means  of  a  combination 
of  deep  breathing  and  concentrated  thought.  The 
object  is  one  in  which  I  have  long  been  interested. 
The  means  used  are  simple.  The  treatment  con 
sists  in  lying  on  one's  back  for  fifteen  minutes 
every  morning  with  arms  outstretched.  Then 
one  must  begin  to  exhale  self  and  inhale  power. 
The  directions  are  given  with  such  exactness  that 
no  one  with  reasonably  good  lungs  can  go  astray. 
The  treatment  is  varied  according  to  the  need. 
One  may  in  this  way  breathe  in,  not  only  health 
and  love,  but,  what  may  seem  to  some  more  im 
portant,  wealth. 

The  treatment  for  chronic  impecuniosity  is 
particularly  interesting.  The  patient,  as  he  lies 
on  his  back  and  breathes  deeply,  repeats,  "  I  am 
Wealth."  This  sets  the  currents  of  financial 
success  moving  in  his  direction. 

One  might  suppose  that  a  theory  of  finance 
so  different  from  that  of  the  ordinary  workaday 
world  would  be  surrounded  by  an  air  of  weirdness 
or  strangeness.  Not  at  all.  Everything  is  most 


QUIXOTISM  28? 

matter  of  fact.  The  Editor  is  evidently  a  sensi 
ble  person  when  it  comes  to  practical  details,  and, 
on  occasion,  gives  admirable  advice. 

A  correspondent  writes :  "  I  have  tried  your 
treatment  for  six  months,  and  I  am  obliged  to 
say  that  I  am  harder  up  than  ever  before.  What 
do  you  advise?" 

It  is  one  of  those  obstinate  cases  which  are  met 
with  now  and  then,  and  which  test  the  real  char 
acter  of  the  practitioner.  The  matter  is  treated 
with  admirable  frankness,  and  yet  with  a  whole 
some  optimism.  The  patient  is  reminded  that 
six  months  is  a  short  time,  and  one  must  not  ex 
pect  too  quick  results.  A  slow,  sure  progress  is 
better,  and  the  effects  are  more  lasting.  This  is 
not  the  first  case  that  has  been  slow  in  yielding 
to  treatment.  Still  it  may  be  better  to  make  a 
slight  change.  The  formula,  "  I  am  Wealth," 
may  be  too  abstract,  though  it  usually  has  worked 
well.  A  more  concrete  thought  might  possibly 
be  more  effective.  Why  not  try,  remembering, 
of  course,  to  continue  the  same  breathings, "  I  am 
Andrew  Carnegie  ?  " 

Then  the  practitioner  adds  a  bit  of  advice  which 
was  certainly  worth  the  moderate  fee  charged: 


288  QUIXOTISM 

"  When  the  exercises  are  over,  ask  yourself  what 
Andrew  would  do  next.  Andrew  would  hustle." 

A  slight  acquaintance  with  the  pseudo  sciences 
which  are  in  vogue  at  the  present  day  reveals  a 
world  to  which  only  the  genius  of  Cervantes  could 
do  justice.  We  see  Absurdity  clothed,  and  in  its 
right  mind.  It  is  formally  correct,  punctiliously 
exact,  completely  serious,  and  withal  high-minded. 
Until  it  comes  in  contact  with  the  actual  world 
we  do  not  realize  that  it  is  absurd. 

Religion  and  medicine  have  always  furnished 
tempting  fields  for  persons  of  the  quixotic  temper. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  their  professed  objects  are 
so  high,  and  perhaps  also  because  their  achieve 
ments  fall  so  far  below  what  we  have  been  led  to 
expect.  Neither  spiritual  nor  mental  health  is 
so  robust  as  to  satisfy  us  with  the  usual  efforts 
in  their  behalf.  Sin  and  sickness  are  continual 
challenges.  Some  one  ought  to  abolish  them. 
An  eager  hearing  is  given  to  any  one  who  claims 
to  be  able  to  do  so.  The  temptation  is  great  for 
those  who  do  not  perceive  the  difference  between 
words  and  things  to  answer  the  demands. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  go  for  examples  either  to 
fanatics  or  quacks.  Not  to  take  too  modern  an 


QUIXOTISM  289 

instance,  there  was  Bishop  Berkeley !  He  was  a 
true  philosopher,  an  earnest  Christian,  and  withal 
a  man  of  sense,  and  yet  he  was  the  author  of 
"  Siris,  a  Chain  of  Philosophical  Reflections  and 
Inquiries  concerning  the  Virtues  of  Tar  Water, 
and  divers  other  Subjects  connected  together,  and 
arising  One  from  Another."  It  is  one  of  those 
works  which  are  the  cause  of  wit  in  other  men. 
It  is  so  learned,  so  exhaustive,  so  pious,  and  the 
author  takes  it  with  such  utter  seriousness ! 

Tar  is  the  good  bishop's  Dulcinea.  All  his 
powers  are  enlisted  in  the  work  of  proclaiming 
the  matchless  virtues  of  this  mistress  of  his 
imagination,  who  is  "  black  but  comely."  Our 
minds  are  prepared  by  a  lyric  outburst :  — 

"  Hail,  vulgar  Juice  of  never-fading  Pine  ! 
Cheap  as  thou  art !  thy  virtues  are  divine, 
To  show  them  and  explain  (such  is  thy  store), 
There  needs  much  modern  and  much  ancient  Lore." 

For  this  great  work  the  author  is  well  equipped. 
Plato,  Aristotle,  Pliny,  and  the  rest  of  the  an 
cients  appear  as  vanquished  knights  compelled  to 
do  honor  to  my  Lady  Tar. 

Other  specifics  are  allowed  to  have  their  vir 
tues,  but  they  grow  pale  before  this  paragon. 


290  QUIXOTISM 

Common  soap  has  its  admirers ;  they  are  treated 
magnanimously,  but  compelled  to  surrender  at 
last.  "  Soap  is  allowed  to  be  cleansing,  attenuat 
ing,  opening,  resolving,  sweetening ;  it  is  pectoral, 
vulnerary,  diuretic,  and  hath  other  good  quali 
ties  ;  which  are  also  found  in  tar  water.  .  .  .  Tar 
water  therefore  is  a  soap,  and  as  such  hath  all  the 
medicinal  qualities  of  soaps."  To  those  who  put 
their  faith  in  vinegar  a  like  argument  is  made. 
It  is  shown  that  tar  water  is  not  only  a  superior 
kind  of  soap,  but  also  a  sublimated  sort  of  vine 
gar  ;  in  fact,  it  appears  to  be  all  things  to  all  men. 
To  those  who  incline  to  the  philosophy  of  the 
ancient  fire-worshipers  a  special  argument  is 
made.  "  I  had  a  long  Time  entertained  an  Opin 
ion  agreeable  to  the  Sentiments  of  many  ancient 
Philosophers,  that  Fire  may  be  regarded  as  the 
Animal  Spirit  of  this  visible  World.  And  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  attracting  and  secreting  of 
this  Fire  in  the  various  Pores,  Tubes,  and  Ducts 
of  Vegetables,  did  impart  their  specifick  Virtues 
to  'each  kind,  that  this  same  Light,  or  Fire,  was 
the  immediate  Cause  of  Sense  and  Motion,  and 
consequently  of  Life  and  Health  to  animals ;  that 
on  Account  of  this  Solar  Light  or  Fire,  Phoabus 


QUIXOTISM  291 

was  in  the  ancient  Mythology  reputed  the  God  of 
Medicine.  Which  Light  as  it  is  leisurely  intro 
duced,  and  fixed  in  the  viscid  juice  of  old  Firs 
and  Pines,  so  setting  it  free  in  Part,  that  is,  the 
changing  its  viscid  for  a  volatile  Vehicle,  which 
may  mix  with  Water,  and  convey  it  throughout 
the  Habit  copiously  and  inoffensively,  would  be 
of  infinite  Use  in  Physic."  It  appears  therefore 
that  tar  water  is  not  only  a  kind  of  soap,  but  also 
a  kind  of  fire. 

Yet  is  not  Quixote  himself  more  careful  to 
avoid  all  appearance  of  extravagance?  The 
author  shrinks  from  imposing  conclusions  on 
another.  After  an  elaborate  argument  which 
moves  irresistibly  to  one  conclusion,  he  stops 
short.  "  This  regards  the  Possibility  of  a  Panacea 
in  general ;  as  for  Tar  Water  in  particular,  I  do 
not  say  it  is  a  Panacea,  I  only  suspect  it  to  be 
so."  Yet  he  must  be  a  churlish  reader  who  could 
go  with  him  so  far  and  then  refuse  to  take  the 
next  step.  Nor  can  a  right-minded  person  be 
indifferent  to  the  moral  argument  in  favor  of 
"Tar  Water,  Temperance,  and  Early  Hours." 
If  tar  water  is  to  be  known  by  the  company  it 
keeps,  it  is  to  be  commended. 


292  QUIXOTISM 

There  is  a  great  advantage  in  taking  our  ex 
ample  from  another  age  than  ours.  Our  enjoy 
ment  of  the  bishop's  Quixotism  does  not  cast 
discredit  on  any  similar  hobby  of  our  own  day. 
"  However,"  as  the  author  of  Siris  remarked,  "  it 
is  hoped  they  will  not  condemn  one  Man's  Tar 
Water  for  another  Man's  Pill  or  Drop,  any  more 
than  they  would  hang  one  Man  for  another's 
having  stole  a  Horse." 

Indeed,  of  all  quixotic  notions  the  most  extreme 
is  that  of  those  who  think  that  Quixotism  can  be 
overcome  by  any  direct  attack.  It  is  a  state  of 
mind  which  must  be  accepted  as  we  accept  any 
other  curious  fact.  As  well  tilt  against  a  cloud 
as  attempt  to  overcome  it  by  argument.  It  is  a 
part  of  the  myth-making  faculty  of  the  human 
mind.  A  myth  is  a  quixotic  notion  which  takes 
possession  of  multitudes  rather  than  of  a  single 
person.  Everybody  accepts  it;  nobody  knows 
why.  You  can  nail  a  lie,  but  you  cannot  nail  a 
myth,  —  there  is  nothing  to  nail  it  to.  It  is  of 
no  use  to  deny  it,  for  that  only  gives  it  a  greater 
vogue. 

I  have  great  sympathy  for  all  mythical  char 
acters.  It  is  possible  that  Hercules  may  have 


QUIXOTISM  293 

been  an  amiable  Greek  gentleman  of  sedentary 
habits.  Some  one  may  have  started  the  story 
of  his  labors  as  a  joke.  In  the  next  town  it 
was  taken  seriously,  and  the  tale  set  forth  on  its 
travels.  After  it  once  had  been  generally  ac 
cepted,  what  could  Hercules  do?  What  good 
would  it  have  been  for  him  to  say,  "  There  's  not 
a  word  of  truth  in  what  everybody  is  saying  about 
me.  I  am  as  averse  to  a  hard  day's  work  as  any 
gentleman  of  my  social  standing  in  the  commu 
nity.  They  are  turning  me  into  a  sun-myth,  and 
mixing  up  my  private  affairs  with  the  signs  of 
the  zodiac  !  I  won't  stand  it !  " 

Bless  me !  he  would  have  to  stand  it !  His 
words  would  but  add  fuel  to  the  flame  of  admi 
ration.  What  a  hero  he  is ;  so  strong  and  so 
modest !  He  has  already  forgotten  those  feats 
of  strength !  It  is  ever  so  with  greatness.  To 
Hercules  it  was  all  mere  child's  play.  All  the 
more  need  that  we  keep  the  stories  alive  in  order 
to  hand  them  down  to  our  children.  Perhaps  we 
had  better  touch  them  up  a  bit  so  that  they  may 
be  more  interesting  to  the  little  dears.  And  so 
would  begin  a  new  cycle  of  myths. 

After  Socrates  had  once  gained  the  reputation 


294  QUIXOTISM 

for  superlative  wisdom,  do  you  think  it  did  any 
good  for  him  to  go  about  proclaiming  that  he 
knew  nothing?  He  was  suspected  of  having 
some  ulterior  design.  Nobody  would  believe  him 
except  Xanthippe. 

When  after  hearing  strange  noises  in  the  night 
Don  Quixote  sallies  forth  only  to  discover  that 
the  sounds  come  from  fulling  hammers  instead  of 
from  giants,  he  rebukes  the  ill-timed  merriment 
of  his  squire.  "  Come  hither,  merry  sir !  Sup 
pose  these  mill  hammers  had  really  been  some 
perilous  adventure,  have  I  not  given  proof  of  the 
courage  requisite  to  undertake  and  achieve  ij? 
Am  I,  being  a  knight,  to  distinguish  between 
sounds,  and  to  know  which  are  and  which  are  not 
those  of  a  fulling  mill,  more  especially  as  I  have 
never  seen  any  fulling  mills  in  my  life?" 

If  the  mill  hammers  could  only  be  transformed 
into  giants,  how  easy  the  path  of  reform !  for  it 
would  satisfy  the  primitive  instinct  to  go  out  and 
kill  something.  I  have  heard  a  temperance  ora 
tor  denounce  the  Demon  Drink  so  roundly  that 
every  one  in  the  audience  was  ready  to  destroy 
the  monster  on  sight.  The  solution  of  the  liquor 


QUIXOTISM  295 

problem,  however,  was  quite  a  different  matter. 
The  young  patriot  who  conceives  of  the  money 
power  under  the  terrifying  image  of  an  octopus 
resolves  at  once  to  give  it  battle.  When  elected 
to  the  legislature  he  meets  many  smooth-spoken 
gentlemen  whose  schemes  are  so  plausible  that 
he  readily  assents  to  them,  —  but  not  an  octopus 
does  he  see.  Yet  I  believe  that  were  he  to  see  an 
octopus  he  would  slay  it. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  better  test  of  a  person's 
nature  than  his  attitude  toward  Quixotism.  The 
man  of  coarse,  unfriendly  humor  sees  in  it  nothing 
but  a  broad  farce.  He  greets  the  misadventures 
of  Don  Quixote  with  a  loud  guffaw.  What  a  fool 
he  was  not  to  know  the  difference  between  an 
ordinary  inn  and  a  castle ! 

There  are  persons  of  a  sensitive  and  refined 
disposition  to  whom  it  is  all  a  tragedy,  exquisitely 
painful  to  contemplate.  Alas,  poor  gentleman, 
with  all  his  lofty  ideals,  to  be  so  buffeted  by  a 
world  unworthy  of  him ! 

But  this  refinement  of  sentiment  comes  peril 
ously  near  to  sentimentalism.  Cervantes  had  the 
more  wholesome  attitude.  He  appreciated  th( 


296  QUIXOTISM 

valor  of  Don  Quixote.  It  was  genuine,  though 
the  knight,  owing  to  circumstances  beyond  his 
own  control,  had  been  compelled  to  make  his 
visor  out  of  pasteboard.  He  had  heroism  of  soul ; 
but  what  of  it !  There  was  plenty  more  where  it 
came  from.  A  man  who  had  fought  at  Lepanto, 
and  endured  years  of  Algerine  captivity,  was  not 
inclined  to  treat  manly  virtue  as  if  it  were  a  rare 
and  delicate  fabric  that  must  be  preserved  in  a 
glass  case.  It  was  amply  able  to  take  care  of 
itself.  He  knew  that  he  could  n't  laugh  genuine 
chivalry  away,  even  if  he  tried.  It  could  stand 
not  only  hard  knocks  from  its  foes,  but  any 
amount  of  raillery  from  its  friends. 

The  bewildered  soldier  who  mistakes  a  harm 
less  camp  follower  for  the  enemy  must  expect 
to  endure  the  gibes  of  his  comrades ;  yet  no  one 
doubts  that  he  would  have  acquitted  himself  nobly 
if  the  enemy  had  appeared.  The  rough  humor 
of  the  camp  is  a  part  of  its  wholesome  discipline. 

Quixotism  is  a  combination  of  goodness  and 
folly.  To  enjoy  it  one  must  be  able  to  appreciate 
them  both  at  the  same  time.  It  is  a  pleasure 
possible  only  to  one  who  is  capable  of  having 
mixed  feelings. 


QUIXOTISM  297 

When  we  consider  the  faculty  which  many 
good  people  have  of  believing  things  that  are  not 
so,  and  ignoring  the  plainest  facts  and  laws  of 
nature,  we  are  sometimes  alarmed  over  the  future 
of  society.  If  any  of  the  Quixotisms  which  are 
now  in  vogue  should  get  themselves  established, 
what  then  ? 

Fortunately  there  is  small  need  of  anxiety. 
When  the  landsman  first  ventures  on  the  waves 
he  observes  with  alarm  the  keeling  over  of  the 
boat  under  the  breeze,  for  he  expects  the  ten 
dency  to  be  followed  to  its  logical  conclusion. 
Fortunately  for  the  equilibrium  of  society,  ten 
dencies  which  are  viewed  with  alarm  are  seldom 
carried  to  their  logical  conclusion.  They  are  met 
by  other  tendencies  before  the  danger  point  is 
reached,  and  the  balance  is  restored. 

The  factor  which  is  overlooked  by  those  who 
fear  the  ascendency  of  any  quixotic  notion  is  the 
existence  of  the  average  man.  This  individual 
is  not  a  striking  personality,  but  he  holds  the 
balance  of  power.  Before  any  extravagant  idea 
can  establish  itself  it  must  convert  the  aver 
age  man.  He  is  very  susceptible,  and  takes  a 
suggestion  so  readily  that  it  seems  to  prophesy 


298  QUIXOTISM 

the  complete  overthrow  of  the  existing  order  of 
things.  But  was  ever  a  conversion  absolute? 
The  best  theologians  say  no.  A  great  deal  of 
the  old  Adam  is  always  left  over.  When  the 
average  man  takes  up  with  a  quixotic  notion, 
only  so  much  of  it  is  practically  wrought  out 
as  he  is  able  to  comprehend.  The  old  Adam 
of  common  sense  continually  asserts  itself.  The 
natural  corrective  of  Quixotism  is  Sancho-Pan- 
zaism.  The  solemn  knight,  with  his  head  full  of 
visionary  plans,  is  followed  by  a  squire  who  is  as 
faithful  as  his  nature  will  permit.  Sancho  has 
no  theories,  and  makes  no  demands  on  the  world. 
He  leaves  that  sort  of  thing  to  his  master.  He 
has  the  fatalism  which  belongs  to  ignorant  good 
nature,  and  the  tolerance  which  is  found  in  easy 
going  persons  who  have  neither  ideals  nor  nerves. 
He  has  no  illusions,  though  he  has  all  the  credu 
lity  of  ignorance. 

He  belongs  to  the  established  order  of  things, 
and  can  conceive  no  other.  When  knight-errantry 
is  proposed  to  him,  he  reduces  that  also  to  the 
established  order.  He  takes  it  up  as  an  honest 
livelihood,  and  rides  forth  in  search  of  forlorn 
maidens  with  the  same  contented  jog  with  which 


QUIXOTISM  299 

he  formerly  went  to  the  village  mill.  When  it 
is  explained  that  faithful  squires  become  gover 
nors  of  islands  he  approves  of  the  idea,  and  be 
gins  to  cherish  a  reasonable  ambition.  Knight- 
errantry  is  brought  within  the  sphere  of  practical 
politics.  Sancho  has  no  stomach  for  adventures. 
When  his  master  warns  him  against  attacking 
knights,  until  such  time  as  he  has  himself  reached 
their  estate,  he  answers  :  — 

"  Never  fear,  I  '11  be  sure  to  obey  your  worship 
in  that,  I  '11  warrant  you  ;  for  I  ever  loved  peace 
and  quietness,  and  never  cared  to  thrust  myself 
into  frays  and  quarrels." 

When  Sancho  becomes  governor  of  his  snug, 
land-locked  island,  there  is  not  a  trace  of  Quix 
otism  in  his  executive  policy.  The  laws  of  Chiv 
alry  have  no  recognition  in  his  administration  ; 
and  everything  is  carried  on  with  most  admirable 
common  sense. 

It  is  an  experience  which  is  quite  familiar  to 
the  readers  of  history.  "  All  who  knew  Sancho," 
moralizes  the  author,  "  wondered  to  hear  him  talk 
so  sensibly,  and  began  to  think  that  offices  and 
places  of  trust  inspire  some  men  with  understand 
ing,  as  they  stupefy  and  confound  others." 


300  QUIXOTISM 

Mother  wit  has  a  great  way  of  evading  the  con* 
sequences  of  theoretical  absurdities.  Natural  law 
takes  care  of  itself,  and  preserves  the  balance. 
So  long  as  Don  Quixote  can  get  no  other  follower 
than  Sancho  Panza,  we  need  not  be  alarmed. 
There  is  no  call  for  a  society  for  the  Preservation 
of  Windmills. 

After  all,  there  is  an  ambiguity  about  Quixot 
ism.  They  laugh  best  who  laugh  last ;  and  we 
are  not  sure  that  satire  has  the  last  word.  Was 
Don  Quixote  as  completely  mistaken  as  he 
seemed  ?  He  mistook  La  Mancha  for  a  land  of 
romance,  and  wandered  through  it  as  if  it  were 
an  enchanted  country. 

The  Commentator  explains  to  us  that  in  this 
lay  the  jest,  for  no  part  of  Spain  was  so  vulgarly 
commonplace.  Its  villages  were  destitute  of 
charm,  and  its  landscape  of  beauty.  La  Mancha 
was  a  name  for  all  that  was  unromantic. 

"  I  cannot  make  it  appear  so,"  says  the  Gentle 
Reader,  who  has  come  under  the  spell  of  Cer 
vantes.  "  Don  Quixote  seems  to  be  wandering 
through  the  most  romantic  country  in  the  world. 
I  can  see 


QUIXOTISM  301 

J  The  long,  straight  line  of  the  highway, 
The  distant  town  that  seems  so  near, 


White  crosses  in  the  mountain  pass, 
Mules  gay  with  tassels,  the  loud  din 

Of  muleteers,  the  tethered  ass 

That  crops  the  dusty  wayside  grass, 

And  cavaliers  with  spurs  of  brass 
Alighting  at  the  inn  ; 

White  hamlets  hidden  in  fields  of  wheat, 

White  sunshine  flooding  square  and  street, 
Dark  mountain-ranges,  at  whose  feet 
The  river-beds  are  dry  with  heat,  — 
All  was  a  dream  to  me.' 

"  Through  this  enchanted  country  it  is  plea 
sant  to  wander  about  in  irresponsible  fashion, 
climbing  mountains,  loitering  in  secluded  valleys, 
where  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  still  make 
love  in  Arcadian  fashion,  meeting  with  monks, 
merchants,  muleteers,  and  fine  gentlemen,  and 
coming  in  the  evening  to  some  castle  where  one 
is  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  splash  of  fountains  and 
the  tinkle  of  guitars ;  and  if  it  should  turn  out 
that  the  castle  is  only  an  inn,  —  why,  to  lodge 
in  an  inn  of  La  Mancha  would  be  a  romantic 
experience  ! " 


302  QUIXOTISM 

The  Spain  of  the  sixteenth  century  is  to  us  as 
truly  a  land  of  romance  as  any  over  which  a 
knight-errant  roamed.  It  seems  just  suited  for 
heroic  adventure. 

Some  day  our  quixotic  characters  may  appear 
to  the  future  reader  thus  magically  conformed  to 
the  world  they  live  in,  or  rather,  the  world  may 
be  transformed  by  their  ideals. 

"They  do  seem  strange  to  us,"  the  Gentle 
Reader  of  that  day  will  say,  "  but  then  we  must 
remember  that  they  lived  in  the  romantic  dawn 
of  the  twentieth  century." 


MN  the  affairs  of  the  mind  we  are  all  "  Indian 
P  givers."  We  will  part  with  our  most  cherished 
convictions  for  a  merely  nominal  consideration, 
such  as  "for  the  sake  of  the  argument,"  —  even 
when  we  do  not  really  care  for  arguments.  But 
let  no  one  be  deceived  into  thinking  that  this  is 
the  end.  Eenunciation  usually  has  some  mental 
reservation,  or  at  least  some  saving  ambiguity. 

You  may  see  a  saint,  in  his  enthusiasm  for 
disinterested  virtue,  give  up  all  claim  to  personal 
happiness.  But  does  he  expect  to  be  taken  at  his 
word  and  to  live  miserably  ever  after  ?  Not  he ! 
Already,  if  he  be  a  true  saint,  he  has  begun  to 
enjoy  the  beatific  vision. 


304       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

I  know  a  teacher  of  religion  who  is  inclined  to 
rebel  against  what  seems  to  him  to  be  the  undue 
emphasis  upon  faith.  For  himself,  it  seems  a 
wholesome  thing  to  do  a  little  doubting  now  and 
then,  and  he  looks  upon  this  as  a  religious  exer 
cise.  He  affirms  that  the  characteristic  attitudes 
of  the  spiritual  man  can  be  expressed  in  terms 
of  skepticism  as  well  as  of  belief.  It  is  all  one 
whether  the  matter  be  put  positively  or  nega 
tively.  Materialism  he  treats  as  a  form  of  dog 
matism  based  on  the  appearance  of  things.  The 
religious  mind  is  incredulous  of  this  explanation 
of  the  universe  and  subjects  it  to  a  destructive 
criticism.  The  soul  of  man  is  full  of  "  obstinate 
questionings  of  sense  and  outward  things."  Yet 
this  same  person,  when  he  forgets  his  argument, 
is  apt  to  talk  like  the  rest  of  us.  After  all,  it  is 
some  kind  of  faith  that  he  is  after,  even  when  he 
pursues  it  by  the  methods  of  skepticism.  In  his 
most  radical  moods  he  never  lets  his  convictions 
slip  away  from  him ;  at  least,  they  never  go  so 
far  away  that  he  cannot  get  them  again. 

In  like  manner  I  must  confess  that  I  am  an 
Indian  giver.  In  giving  over  to  Science  all  claim 
to  the  domain  of  Knowledge,  and  reserving  to  my 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT        305 

friend  the  Gentle  Reader  only  the  right  of  way 
over  the  picturesque  but  less  fruitful  fields  of 
Ignorance,  I  was  actuated  by  the  purest  motives. 
At  the  time  it  seemed  very  magnanimous,  and, 
moreover,  it  saved  the  trouble  of  a  doubtful  con 
test. 

But  now  that  so  much  has  been  given  away,  I 
am  visited  by  compunctions,  and,  if  it  is  not  too 
late,  I  will  take  back  part  of  the  too  generous 
gift.  Let  us  make  a  distinction,  and  instead  of 
treating  knowledge  as  if  it  were  indivisible,  let 
us  speak,  after  the  manner  of  Swedenborg,  of 
knowledges.  The  greater  number  of  knowledges 
we  will  make  over  without  question  to  Science 
and  Philosophy ;  the  knowledges  which  are  con 
cerned  with  laws  and  forces  and  with  the  multi 
tudinous  facts  which  are  capable  of  classification. 
But  for  the  Gentle  Reader  and  his  kind  let  us 
reserve  the  claim  to  a  knowledge  of  some  things 
which  cannot  be  classified.  I  hardly  believe  that 
they  will  be  missed ;  they  are  not  likely  to  be 
included  in  any  scientific  inventory ;  their  value 
is  chiefly  in  personal  association. 

There  is  a  knowledge  of  persons  as  well  as  of 
things,  and  in  particular  there  is  a  knowledge 


306       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

of  certain  persons  to  whom  one  is  drawn  in  close 
friendship.  Emerson,  in  his  essay  on  Milton, 
speaks  of  those  who  come  to  the  poet  with  "  inti 
mate  knowledge  and  delight."  It  is,  after  all, 
convenient  to  treat  this  feeling  of  delightful  inti 
macy  as  a  kind  of  knowledge.  If  it  is  not  that, 
what  is  it  ? 

The  peculiarity  of  this  kind  of  knowledge  is 
that  it  is  impossible  to  formulate  it ;  and  that  the 
very  attempt  to  do  so  is  an  offence.  The  unpar 
donable  sin  against  friendship  is  to  merge  the 
person  in  a  class.  Think  of  an  individual  as  an 
adult  Caucasian, "  an  inhabitant  of  North  Amer 
ica,  belonging  to  the  better  classes,"  as  to  religion 
a  moderate  churchman,  in  politics  a  Republican, 
and  you  may  accumulate  a  number  of  details 
interesting  enough  in  a  stranger.  You  may  in 
this  way  "  know  where  to  place  him."  But  if  you 
do  actually  place  him  there,  and  treat  him  ac 
cordingly,  he  has  ceased  to  be  your  friend. 

A  friend  is  unique.  He  belongs  to  no  cate 
gories.  He  is  not  a  case,  nor  the  illustration 
of  a  thesis.  Your  interest  is  neither  pathologi 
cal  nor  anthropological  nor  statistical.  You  are 
concerned  not  with  what  he  is  like,  but  with  what 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       307 

he  is.     There  is  an  element  of  jealous  exclusive- 
ness  in  such  knowledge. 

In  the  Song  of  Songs,  after  the  ecstatic  praise 
of  the  beloved,  the  question  is  asked :  — 

"  What  is  thy  beloved  more  than  any  other  beloved,  that  thou 
dost  so  adjure  us  ?  " 

The  answer  is  a  description  of  his  personal 
perfections :  — 

"  My  beloved  is  white  and  ruddy, 

His  locks  are  bushy,  and  black  as  a  raven. 
His  eyes  are  like  doves  beside  the  water  brooks. 

His  aspect  is  like  Lebanon,  excellent  as  the  cedars, 
His  mouth  is  most  sweet :  yea,  he  is  altogether  lovely. 
This  is  my  beloved,  and  this  is  my  friend, 
O  daughters  of  Jerusalem." 

Do  you  think  that  the  daughters  of  Jerusalem 
would  be  so  tactless  as  to  reply  that  they  had 
seen  a  number  of  handsome  youths  with  bushy 
black  hair  and  languishing  eyes  and  fine  forms, 
and  that  they  represented  an  admirable  type  of 
manly  beauty?  That  would  be  to  confess  that 
they  had  not  seen  the  beloved,  for  he  was  unlike 
all  others.  "  My  beloved  is  marked  out  with  a 
banner  among  ten  thousand." 


SOS      INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

The  knowledge  that  is  required  is  not  contained 
in  a  catalogue  of  the  points  in  which  he  resem 
bles  the  nine  thousand  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  ;  it  is  a  recognition  of  the  incommunicable 
grace  that  is  his  own. 

Even  in  ordinary  social  intercourse  the  most 
delicate  compliment  is  to  treat  the  person  with 
whom  you  are  talking  as  an  exception  to  all  rules. 
That  he  is  a  clergyman  or  a  commercial  traveler 
tells  you  nothing  of  his  inner  life.  That  is  left 
for  him  to  reveal,  if  it  so  pleases  him.  Even  a 
king  grows  tired  of  being  addressed  in  terms 
appropriate  to  royalty.  It  is  a  relief  to  travel 
incognito,  and  he  is  flattered  when  he  is  assured 
that  no  one  suspects  his  station  in  life.  It  makes 
him  feel  that  he  is  not  like  the  ordinary  run  of 
kings. 

No  one  likes  to  be  pigeon-holed  or  reduced  to 
a  formula.  We  resent  being  classed  as  old  or 
middle-aged  or  young.  Why  should  we  be  con 
founded  with  our  coevals  ?  We  may  not  be  any 
better  than  they  are  ;  but  we  are  different.  Nor 
is  it  pleasant  to  have  our  opinions  treated  as  if 
they  were  the  necessary  product  of  social  forces. 
There  is  something  offensive  in  the  curiosity  of 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       309 

those  who  are  all  the  time  asking  how  we  came 
by  our  ideas.  What  if  they  do  bear  a  general 
resemblance  to  those  of  the  honest  people  who 
belong  to  our  party  and  who  read  the  same 
newspaper.  We  do  not  care  to  be  reminded  of 
these  chance  coincidences.  Because  one  has  found 
it  convenient  and  economical  to  buy  a  ready-made 
suit  of  clothing,  it  does  not  follow  that  he  is  will 
ing  to  wear  the  tag  which  contains  the  statement 
of  the  price  and  size.  These  labels  were  very 
useful  so  long  as  the  garment  was  kept  in  stock 
by  the  dealer,  but  the  information  that  they  convey 
is  now  irrelevant. 

This  sensitiveness  in  regard  to  personal  identity 
is  strangely  lacking  in  many  modern  students  of 
literature.  They  treat  the  man  of  genius  as  a 
phenomenon,  to  be  explained  by  other  phenomena 
and  used  to  illustrate  a  general  law.  They  love 
to  deal  in  averages  and  aggregates.  They  de 
scribe  minutely  the  period  to  which  a  writer  be 
longs,  its  currents  of  thought,  its  intellectual 
limitations,  and  its  generally  received  notions. 
With  a  knowledge  of  antecedent  conditions  there 
is  the  expectancy  of  a  certain  type  of  man  as  the 
result.  Our  minds  are  prepared  for  some  one 


310       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

who  resembles  the  composite  photograph  which 
is  first  presented  to  us.  We  are,  for  example, 
given  an  elaborate  account  of  the  Puritan  move 
ment  in  England.  We  form  a  conception  of  what 
the  Puritan  was,  and  then  we  are  introduced  to 
Milton.  Our  preconceptions  stand  in  the  way  of 
personal  sympathy. 

The  method  of  the  Gentle  Reader  is  more 
direct.  He  is  fortunate  enough  to  have  read 
Milton  before  he  has  read  much  about  him, 
and  he  returns  to  the  reading  with  ever  fresh 
delight.  He  does  not  think  of  him  as  belonging 
to  a  past  age.  He  is  a  perpetual  contemporary. 
The  seventeenth  century  gave  color  to  his  words, 
but  it  did  not  limit  his  genius. 

Seventeenth  century  Independency  might  be, 
as  a  general  thing,  lacking  in  grace,  but  when  we 
turn  away  from  Praise-God-Barebones  to  John 
Milton  we  find  it  transformed  into  a  — 

"  divine  philosophy, 

Not  harsh  and  crabbed  as  dull  fools  suppose, 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute, 
And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectared  sweets." 

Into  its  austere  beauty,  into  its  wide  free  spaces, 
into  its  sensuous  charms,  no  one  but  Milton  can 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       311 

conduct  us.  We  must  follow  not  as  those  who 
know  beforehand  what  is  to  be  seen  or  heard,  but 
as  those  who  are  welcomed  by  a  generous  house 
holder  who  brings  out  of  his  treasures  things  new 
and  old. 

We  come  upon  a  sublime  spirit  — 

"  Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free." 

That  is  Milton  ;  but  it  is  Milton  also  who  can 
sing  of  — 

"  Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 
Quips  and  Cranks  and  wanton  Wiles, 
Nods  and  Becks  and  wreathed  Smiles 
Such  as  hang1  on  Hebe's  cheek, 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek, 
Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 
And  Laughter  holding-  both  his  sides." 

If  this  be  Puritanism,  it  is  Puritanism  with  a 
difference.  Did  any  one  in  a  few  words  give 
such  a  picture  of  mirth  — 

"  So  buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair  ?  " 

Was  this  the  real  Milton?  Why  not?  His 
radiant  youth  was  as  real  as  his  blindness  and 
his  old  age.  And  Milton  the  political  pamphlet 
eer  was  real  too,  though  his  language  was  not 
always  that  which  might  have  been  expected 


312       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

from  the  author  of  "  Paradise  Lost."  We  pass 
lightly  over  pages  of  vituperation  which  any  one 
might  have  written,  and  then  come  upon  splen 
did  passages  which  could  have  come  from  him 
alone.  The  sentiment  of  democratic  equality  is 
invested  with  a  dignity  which  makes  all  the  pre 
tensions  of  privileged  orders  seem  vulgar.  Here 
is  the  Milton  who  is  invoked  to  — 

"  Give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power !  " 

In  these  moments  we  become  aware  of  a  man  who 
was  not  to  be  explained  by  any  general  rule. 

To  one  who  takes  delight  in  the  personality 
of  Milton,  even  "  Paradise  Lost  "  is  not  a  piece  of 
unmitigated  sublimity.  It  is  full  of  self-revela 
tions.  The  reader  who  has  come  to  share  Mil 
ton's  passion  for  personal  liberty  and  scorn  for 
a  "  fugitive  and  cloistered  virtue  "  is  curious  to 
know  how  he  will  treat  his  new  theme.  In  the 
"  Areopagitica  "  he  had  frankly  treated  the  "  Fall 
of  Man"  as  a  "fall  upward."  "Good  and  evil 
we  know  in  the  field  of  this  world  grow  up  to 
gether  almost  inseparably ;  and  the  knowledge 
of  good  is  so  involved  and  interwoven  with  the 
knowledge  of  evil,  and  in  so  many  cunning  re 
semblances  hardly  to  be  discerned,  that  those 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       313 

confused  seeds  which  were  imposed  on  Psyche 
as  an  increased  labor  to  cull  out  and  sort  asun 
der,  were  not  more  interniixt.  And  perhaps 
that  is  the  doom  which  Adam  fell  into  of  know 
ing  good  and  evil;  that  is  to  say,  of  knowing 
good  by  evil.  As  therefore  the  state  of  man 
now  is,  what  wisdom  can  there  be  to  choose, 
what  continence  to  forbear  without  the  know 
ledge  of  evil.  .  .  .  That  virtue,  therefore,  which 
is  but  a  youngling  in  the  contemplation  of  evil, 
and  knows  not  the  utmost  that  vice  promises  to 
her  followers,  and  rejects  it,  is  but  a  blank  virtue, 
not  a  pure.  .  .  .  Since,  therefore,  the  knowledge 
and  survey  of  vice  is  in  this  world  so  necessary 
to  the  constituting  of  human  virtue,  and  the 
scanning  of  error  to  the  confirmation  of  truth, 
how  can  we  more  safely  and  with  less  danger 
scout  into  the  region  of  sin  and  falsity  than  by 
reading  all  manner  of  tractates  and  hearing  all 
manner  of  reasons." 

What  would  such  an  adventurous  spirit  make 

"  Of  man's  first  Disobedience  and  the  Fruit 
Of  that  Forbidden  Tree,  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  Death  into  the  World  and  all  our  woe, 
With  loss  of  Eden  "  ? 


314       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

What  would  Milton  make  of  Adam  in  his 
sheltered  Paradise  ?  And  what  would  one  whose 
whole  life  had  been  a  passionate  protest  against 
the  idea  of  submission  to  mere  arbitrary  power 
do  with  the  element  of  arbitrariness  which  the 
theology  of  his  day  attributed  to  the  Divine 
Ruler  ?  And  what  of  Satan  ? 

"  One  who  brings 

A  mind  not  to  be  changed  by  Place  or  Time. 
The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  Heaven  of  Hell,  a  Hell  of  Heaven. 
What  matter  where,  if  I  be  still  the  same  ?  " 

There  is  a  note  in  that  proud  creed  that  could 
not  be  altogether  uncongenial  to  one  who  in  his 
blindness  could  — 

"  still  bear  up  and  steer 
Right  onward.   What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ? 

The  Conscience,  Friend,  t'  have  lost  them  overplied 
In  liberty's  defense,  my  noble  task ; 

Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 
This  thought  might  lead  me  through  this  World's  vain  mask 

Content  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  Guide." 

In  its  ostensible  plot  "  Paradise  Lost "  is  a 
tragedy;  but  did  Milton  really  feel  it  to  be 
so  ?  One  fancies  —  though  he  may  be  mis 
taken  —  that  as  Adam  and  Eve  leave  Paradise 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       315 

he  hears  a  sigh  of  relief  from  the  poet,  who  was 
himself  ever  a  lover  of  "  the  Mountain  Nymph, 
sweet  Liberty."  At  any  rate,  there  is  an  under 
tone  of  cheer. 

"  Some  natural  tears  they  dropped,  but  \viped  them  soon, 
The  World  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide." 

Adam,  when  the  old  sheltered  life  is  over,  and 
the  possibilities  of  the  new  life  of  struggle  were 
revealed,  — 

"  Replete  with  joy  and  wonder  thus  replied. 
O  goodness  infinite,  goodness  immense  ! 
That  all  this  good  of  evil  shall  produce, 
And  evil  turn  to  good ;  more  wonderful 
Than  that  which  by  creation  first  brought  forth 
Light  out  of  darkness  !  full  of  doubt  I  stand, 
Whether  I  should  repent  me  now  of  sin 
By  me  done  and  occasioned  or  rejoice 
Much  more  that  much  more  good  thereof  shall  spring." 

That  Adam  should  treat  the  loss  of  Eden  in 
such  a  casual  manner,  and  that  he  should  express 
a  doubt  as  to  whether  the  estate  into  which  his 
fall  plunged  the  race  was  not  better  than  one  in 
which  no  moral  struggle  was  necessary,  was  not 
characteristic  of  seventeenth-century  theology,  — 
but  it  was  just  like  Milton. 


316       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

There  is  no  knowledge  so  intimate  as  that  pos 
sessed  by  the  reader  of  one  book.  It  is  an  eso 
teric  joy.  The  wisdom  of  the  ages  concentrated 
into  one  personality  and  then  graciously  commu 
nicated  to  the  disciple  has  a  flavor  of  which  the 
multitudes  of  mere  scholars  know  nothing.  To 
them  Wisdom  is  a  public  character. 

"  Doth  not  Wisdom  cry, 
And  understanding  put  forth  her  voice  ? 
In  the  top  of  high  places 
Where  the  paths  meet  she  standeth." 

But  the  disciple  is  not  content  with  such  pub 
licity.  He  shuns  the  crowded  highways,  and 
delights  to  hear  wisdom  speaking  in  confidential 
tones. 

In  a  little  settlement  in  the  far  West  I  once  met 
a  somewhat  depressed-looking  man  who  remained 
silent  till  a  chance  remark  brought  a  glow  of 
enthusiasm  to  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  "  you  have  been  reading  the 
Kuins." 

My  remark  had  been  of  a  kind  that  needed 
no  special  reading  to  account  for  it.  It  merely 
expressed  one  of  those  obvious  truths  which  are 
likely  to  occur  to  the  majority  of  persons.  But 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       317 

fco  him  it  seemed  so  reasonable  that  it  could  only 
come  from  the  one  source  of  wise  thought  with 
which  he  was  acquainted. 

"  The  Ruins  "  proved  to  be  a  translation  of 
Volney's  "  Ruins  of  Empire."  I  fear  that  I 
must  have  given  the  impression  of  greater  famil 
iarity  with  that  work  than  was  warranted  by  the 
facts,  for  my  new-found  friend  received  me  as  a 
member  of  the  true  brotherhood.  His  tongue 
was  unloosed,  and  his  intellectual  passions,  so 
long  pent  up,  were  freed.  Had  we  not  both 
read  "  The  Ruins  "  !  It  was  to  him  more  than  a 
book ;  it  was  a  symbol  of  the  unutterable  things 
of  the  mind.  It  was  a  passionate  protest  against 
the  narrow  opinions  of  his  neighbors.  It  stood 
for  all  that  was  lifted  above  the  petty  gossip  of 
the  little  community,  and  for  all  that  united  him 
to  an  intellectual  world  of  which  he  dreamed. 

As  we  talked  I  marveled  at  the  amount  of 
sound  philosophy  this  lonely  reader  had  ex 
tracted  from  "  The  Ruins."  Or  had  it  been  that 
he  had  brought  the  wisdom  from  his  own  medita 
tion  and  deposited  it  at  this  shrine?  One  can 
never  be  sure  whether  a  text  has  suggested  the 
thought  or  the  thought  has  illuminated  the  text. 


318       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

When  it  happens  that  the  man  of  one  book 
has  chosen  a  work  of  intrinsic  value,  the  result 
is  a  kind  of  knowledge  which  is  of  inestimable 
worth.  It  is  deeply  interfused  with  the  whole 
imaginative  life,  it  is  involved  in  every  personal 
experience. 

The  supreme  example  of  such  intimate  know 
ledge  was  that  which  generations  of  English 
speaking  men  had  of  the  Bible.  Apart  from  any 
religious  theory,  this  familiarity  was  a  wonderful 
fact  in  the  history  of  culture.  It  meant  that  the 
ordinary  man  was  not  simply  in  his  youth  but 
throughout  his  life  brought  into  direct  contact 
with  great  poetry,  sublime  philosophy,  vivid  his 
tory.  These  were  not  reserved  for  state  occa 
sions  ;  they  were  the  daily  food  of  the  mind. 
Into  the  plain  fabric  of  western  thought  was 
woven  a  thread  of  Oriental  sentiment.  Children 
were  as  familiar  with  the  names  and  incidents  of 
remote  ages  and  lands  as  with  their  own  neigh 
borhood. 

The  important  things  about  this  culture  of  the 
common  people  was  that  it  came  through  mere 
reading.  The  Bible  was  printed  "  without  note 
or  comment."  The  lack  of  critical  apparatus  and 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       319 

of  preliminary  training  was  the  cause  of  many 
incidental  mistakes ;  but  it  prevented  the  great 
est  mistake  of  all,  —  that  of  obscuring  the  text 
by  the  commentary. 

In  these  days  there  has  been  a  great  advance 
in  critical  scholarship.  Much  more  is  known 
about  the  Bible,  at  least  by  those  who  have  made 
it  the  object  of  special  study ;  but  there  is  a  sus 
picion  that  fewer  persons  know  the  Bible  than  in 
the  days  when  there  were  no  "  study  classes,"  but 
only  the  habit  of  daily  reading. 

The  Protestant  insistence  upon  publishing  the 
Scriptures  without  note  or  comment  was  an  effort 
to  do  away  with  the  middle-men  who  stood  be 
tween  the  Book  and  its  readers.  Private  judg 
ment,  it  was  declared,  was  a  sufficient  interpreter 
even  of  the  profoundest  utterances.  This  is  a 
doctrine  that  needs  to  be  revived  and  extended 
till  it  takes  in  all  great  literature. 

To  come  to  a  book  as  to  a  friend,  to  allow  it  to 
speak  for  itself,  without  the  intrusion  of  a  third 
person,  this  is  the  substance  of  the  whole  matter. 
There  must  be  no  hard  and  fast  rules,  no  precon 
ceived  opinions.  Because  the  author  has  a  repu 
tation  as  a  humorist,  let  him  not  be  received  with 


320       INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT 

an  expectant  smile.  Nothing  can  be  more  dis 
concerting  to  his  sensitive  spirit;  and  besides, 
how  can  you  know  that  he  has  not  a  very  serious 
message  to  communicate  ?  Because  he  is  said  to 
be  capable  of  sublimity,  do  not  await  him  with 
overstrained  sensibilities.  Perhaps  you  may  find 
him  much  less  sublime  and  much  more  entertain 
ing  than  you  had  anticipated.  If  the  sublime 
vision  does  come,  you  will  appreciate  it  all  the 
more  if  it  comes  upon  you  unawares. 

"  As  cloud  on  cloud,  as  snow  on  snow,  as  the 
bird  on  the  air,  and  the  planet  on  space  in  its 
flight,  so  do  nations  of  men  and  their  institutions 
rest  on  thoughts." 

If  this  be  so,  can  there  be  any  knowledge  more 
important  than  the  knowledge  of  what  a  man 
actually  thinks.  "  A  penny  for  your  thoughts," 
we  say  lightly,  knowing  well  that  this  hidden 
treasure  cannot  be  bought.  The  world  may  be 
described  in  formal  fashion  as  if  it  were  an  un 
changing  reality ;  but  how  the  world  appears  to 
each  inhabitant  of  it  he  alone  can  declare.  Or 
perhaps  he  cannot  declare  it,  for  most  of  us  find 
it  impossible  to  tell  what  we  really  think  or  feel. 
In  attempting  to  do  it  we  fall  into  conventional- 


INTIMATE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  DELIGHT       321 

ity,  and  succeed  only  in  telling  what  we  think 
other  people  would  like  to  have  us  think.  Only 
now  and  then  is  one  born  with  the  gift  of  true 
self-expression.  In  his  speech  we  recognize  a  real 
person,  and  not  the  confused  murmur  of  a  multi 
tude.  Institutions  and  traditions  do  not  account 
for  him ;  this  thought  is  the  more  fundamental 
fact.  Here  is  a  unique  bit  of  knowledge.  There 
is  no  other  way  of  getting  at  it  than  that  of  the 
Gentle  Reader,  —  to  shut  out  the  rest  of  the  world 
and  listen  to  the  man  himself. 


M 

- 


BCD  cue  DOT   ««  Mi 


Crothers,  StM 


The  gentl£  reader 


M141452 


s\ 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


